


Blood Vow

by Dusk Peterson (duskpeterson)



Series: The Three Lands [6]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Character(s) of Color, Courage, Emperors, Ethical Issues, Eunuchs, F/M, Family, Fantasy, Friendship, Gen, Gods, Guards, Hurt/Comfort, Lords, Male Friendship, Male-Female Friendship, Master & Servant, Multi, Older Character, Original Fiction, Original Trans Character(s) - Freeform, POV Character of Color, Poverty, Prisonfic, Queer Gen, Rebels, Recovery, Romantic Friendship, Rulers, Self-Discipline, Soldiers, Spies, Third Gender, War, abuse issues, abuse recovery, don't need to read other stories in the series, ethnic Middle Eastern character(s), female character(s) of color, gen - Freeform, het (subplot), liege lords, liegemen, male character(s) of color, male-to-nonbinary-to-male character, master & slave, original gen, original het (subplot), queerplatonic, servantfic, slavefic, spirituality, traders - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-28
Updated: 2020-02-24
Packaged: 2020-09-28 11:21:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 23
Words: 120,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20425133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/duskpeterson/pseuds/Dusk%20Peterson
Summary: "I had come to tell him, in the cheerful manner boys have, that our world was about to be destroyed."He has taken a blood vow to the Jackal God to bring freedom to his land by killing Koretia's greatest enemy. But what will he do when the enemy becomes his friend?Thrust into exile and pain, young Andrew has no choice but to accept the friendship of the very person he had vowed to kill. When he returns with his friend to his homeland fifteen years later, though, he finds himself in a land of conflicting loyalties . . . where a vengeful god awaits him.Boilerplate warning for all my stories + my rating system.





	1. The Gods' Land | 1

**Author's Note:**

> > Oh! ye whose dead lie buried beneath the green grass; who standing among flower can say – here, _here_ lies my beloved; ye know not the desolation that broods in bosoms like these. What bitter blanks in those black-bordered marbles which cover no ashes! What despair in those immovable descriptions! What deadly voids and unbidden infidelities in the lines that seem to gnaw upon all Faith, and refuse resurrection to the beings who have placelessly perished without a grave. . . .
>> 
>> But Faith, like a jackal, feeds among the tombs, and even from these dead doubts she gathers her most vital hope.
>> 
>> —Herman Melville: _Moby-Dick._

  
**_Blood Vow_ 1**  
**THE GODS' LAND**  


**CHAPTER ONE**

I had searched half the mountainside before I found him where I did not expect him, sitting in the window of the gods' house. I had come to tell him, in the cheerful manner boys have, that our world was about to be destroyed. My announcement came true sooner than I would have expected, and that was the day when I lost all that was dear to me and was forced to hide within a mask I later found I could not remove. I remember that day most clearly, though, because it contained the moment at which I first placed myself under the care of a master who was already present but whom I did not yet know. 

I stood for a long time, looking up from the steep slope below the gods' house, unable to believe what I saw. To a stranger from a foreign land, perhaps, the sight would have seemed quite ordinary. The window in which he sat was low and broad, like all Koretian windows, though otherwise the building was unlike those in our capital nearby. Like the modern priests' house, this ancient house of worship was made of stone, a building material that always seemed odd to my eyes, living as I did in a city of wattle-and-daub homes. The trees that covered the north side of the mountainside – and covered every bit of Koretian countryside, as far as I could tell from my mountainside perch – obscured most of the crumbling facade, but I could tell that some pious and very brave man had decided in recent centuries to restore the wooden door at the building's entrance. 

I stood a while in indecision. I was brave, but I would not ordinarily have been foolhardy enough to trespass on the gods' forbidden territory. The figure in the window, though, was a challenge to me, and since I never allowed him to go unprotected into danger, I decided that if the gods were going to strike him down for his deed, they would have to confront me first. 

I raced up the mountainside, waiting until the last minute to dodge each tree, simply for the thrill of the danger. Then I stopped at the entrance and cautiously opened the door. 

A corridor ran left and right of me, well lit from the summer afternoon sun casting forth its glow through the corridor's windows. Whichever man had restored the entrance door had also taken the trouble to restore the doors to the priests' cells, but several of these were open. As I walked by, I peered in boldly to see what I would find. I was disappointed to discover that the windowless rooms were not much different from those in the present-day priests' house. Oh, small differences existed. A tiny hole was cut in the ceiling of each room, just above a shallow pit for the central fireplace. These cells, I had been told in the past, did not possess the modern hypocausts that Emorian engineers had installed in the priests' house the year before, which had caused half the city pilgrims to cease visiting the house during the installation, lest they be contaminated by contact with our enemy. The only other objects in this cell were a small stone ledge against the wall, which could serve as a table, and a man-sized stone slab on which one could place a pallet. This made the gods' house look luxurious in comparison with the unfurnished cells of the priests' house, lower below on the mountainside. 

I had dulled my curiosity concerning the house's appearance – and incidentally sharpened my courage, since this did not seem to be so mysterious a building after all. I swaggered my way down to the left end of the corridor and paused at the open entrance to a large chamber. 

This must have been the sanctuary in ancient times, but the altar had long since vanished, and all that was left were warped, wood-lined walls and the windowseat opposite the door. Though not the type of boy who was granted visions from the gods, I could nonetheless imagine vividly the room as it must have looked in the old days: priests in hooded brown robes surrounding the altar where the goat was bound, while over the sacrificial victim was poised a dagger held by the priest who spoke for the god. No – I corrected myself – for I had heard about the fearsome nature of the ancient rites. The priest _was_ the god, taking on the god's powers for the length of the ceremony. 

Then the vision vanished, and all that I could see was a boy sitting in a windowseat, staring intently at nothing I could see. 

John was in his tenth year at this time, two years older than me. Our age difference had caused no breach between us – indeed, I was usually the leader of our expeditions, decreeing with the imperiousness of a king what we would do and how we would do it. John almost always meekly complied with my orders. The "almost" was a qualification I preferred not to think about, for his infrequent refusals invariably came with such composed self-assurance that I was the one who ended up feeling foolish. 

He was dressed in the shapeless brown tunic that was worn by all of the orphan boys at the priests' house, which made me grateful for my own single, leaf-green tunic, lovingly woven by my mother, who managed to keep both of us alive by selling her weaves. Clipped at the left side of his belt, nearly hidden in the shadow of his body, was the leather sheath of his dagger. If I had been wearing such a dagger, I would have found it hard to keep my hands off it, but his own hands were loosely wrapped around his knee-bent legs, while his head was tilted back against the post of the window. He was looking at something, but the object of his witness was not in this room. 

I felt a pang of loneliness bite into me, as I often did when John departed from me in this way. Without thinking about what I was doing, I reached my left hand toward the slingshot at my belt while my right hand dipped into my belt pouch for one of the smooth stones I stored there. For one glorious second I lined my shot toward John's head; then, at the last moment, I turned the aim of the sling and let the pebble fly. 

The stone passed closer than I had intended, missing John's face by a hand's length. His body did not move, but he turned his head, startled out of his vision. Then he saw who sent the shot, and his expression relaxed. 

"You'll kill somebody one of these days," he said soberly. 

I laughed as I skidded my way up to where he was sitting. He gestured me onto the windowseat, as though this were his own house, and I said, landing with a bounce, "I wanted to see whether you would draw that dagger of yours." 

A smile eased its way onto his face then, and he looked at me with open affection. "Not against you," he said. 

His smile had a way of lighting up even his eyes, which otherwise looked solemn under his straight eyebrows. Like nearly all Koretians, he had dark hair and brown skin – light brown, since neither of us yet had the dark skin acquired after years of living under the scorching southern sun. But his eyes, rather than being brown or hazel, were completely black, like those of a mountain cat that is staring hard at its prey. The color always made it difficult for me to tell what he was looking at, and they made even more irritating his tendency to withdraw from conversation and stare at visions I could not share. 

"John," I said, "why do you bother to carry a free-man's weapon if you're never going to use it?" 

"It is dedicated to the Unknowable God, as I am," replied John. "My parents didn't leave any note with me telling the priests which god they wished to dedicate me to, but they did leave the dagger, so that must mean something. It's up to me to discover which god I'm meant to serve. Besides," he added, more to the point, "I might need the dagger for a blood vow." 

I stared at the weapon hungrily and felt my palms begin to tingle. "May I hold it?" I asked. 

I knew what his answer would be, but as always, he made me wait while he silently assessed my face. Then he carefully slid the blade out of its sheath and offered it to me, hilt first. 

I took it tightly into my right hand, feeling the rough leather bands press patterns against my palm. The dagger was made of a single piece of iron; John had wrapped the hilt in blackened leather so that he could hold the dagger more securely. Now he folded his arms on top of his knees and watched as I leapt back onto the floor, thrusting the dagger at an imaginary opponent. For several minutes I practiced the lunges and feints and guards that the boy in the house next to mine had taught me during the previous year. In turn, I had taught those same movements to John as fair payment for the lessons he was giving me in how to perfect the Emorian and Daxion I'd picked up from travellers, as well as learning the older version of the Emorian tongue, used only in the imperial law documents and chronicles. Thus John now knew how to defend himself as well as any city boy, and I knew the languages of the Three Lands as well as any learned priest. 

John was still watching me closely, so I reluctantly returned the weapon to its owner, saying, "I wish I had a blade like that." 

"Why don't you?" John asked, slipping the dagger back into its sheath. "The priests don't like to see me carrying a dagger, but that's because I'll be an unarmed priest some day. There's no reason a boy your age shouldn't own a free-man's weapon. Can't your mother afford to buy you one?" 

I sat down again, curling my legs up against my chest and resting my chin on my knees. "I asked her for a dagger last year. She said she didn't want me to carry a blade because I was too much like my father, unable to control my bloodthirst. She was afraid I would end up like him." 

"But that sort of thing happens all the time," said John in a matter-of-fact manner. "Some Emorian soldiers who are escorting an ambassadorial party swagger into a tavern as though they've already conquered this entire land, they boast about how the Chara's armies will defeat the Koretian army, and the next you know there's a fight. Your father isn't the first soldier to lose his life in a sword-duel with the Emorians." 

"It's more than that . . . ." I hesitated, my gaze firmly fixed now on a blood-fly that was crawling up John's leg. John would always ignore such attacks, as he would rather allow a small portion of his blood to be drained than to kill a creature without need. I felt my face grow warm, but John said nothing, and I knew that if I spoke of something else, John would never raise this subject again, never probe for my secret. So I said in a low voice, "My mother told me how my father really died. He was killed by an Emorian soldier, like I'd always been told, but not because they had been duelling. The soldier was exacting vengeance. My father had already killed another Emorian, one of the army clerks. The man was unarmed." 

A light breeze leapt in through the window, blowing aside the fly that had just found its drinking-spot, and providing the first and last relief that day from the heavy, muggy heat. John said softly, "I'm sure the gods forgave him for that." 

"I hope so," I whispered. Unable to bear my feelings, I jumped up and whirled my way into the corner of the room, where some of the ancient wood panelling was beginning to crumble. "Speaking of the gods' forgiveness, what sort of punishment do you suppose the gods will give us for invading their house?" 

John shook his head as he unhurriedly rose from the windowseat. "I asked Lovell whether I could come here, and he said that only superstition kept people from visiting. He said that of course I must show reverence here, as I do at the priests' house, but that the gods won't strike down any pious person who comes here seeking their peace." 

"Is that why you came here?" I asked, dancing my way around the perimeter of the room like a bird doing a mate-dance. "Just for peace? I would think you'd have enough of that in your monotonous life at the priests' house. Look at what your day is like! Up at dawn, worship, spend the morning with Lovell studying languages and healing and priests' rites, worship again, spend half your afternoon working in the crafts shop, and _then_ spend a few hours free here on the mountainside or, if you're very good and study hard, maybe visit me down in the city. And after all that, there's more worship and more time spent reading books before you go to bed at midnight. Is that really how you want to spend the rest of your life?" 

John bowed his head and scuffed the floor with his sandal, sending sun-specked bits of dust spiralling upwards like tiny beads of flame. He said softly, "I think I'd be a good priest." 

"You'd be good at anything you did," I replied firmly. "You're skilled with your dagger – why don't you become a soldier like me, so that we can fight the Emorians together? That way, we'd never have to part." 

John raised his head slightly, tilting it so that one eye peered up at me. "Actually, I'd been thinking about that today – about how we could find a way to see each other when we came of age. You'd be off travelling with the army most of the time, and I'd be busy offering sacrifices to the gods, so I thought it would be nice if we had a place all to ourselves that we could stay in whenever you visited the city." 

"A house, you mean?" I said idly. 

"Well, sort of a house." He leaned back against the wall and looked at me steadily with his night-black eyes. 

I grasped his meaning in an instant and halted my roaming. "John! We couldn't— I mean, wouldn't the gods be angry?" 

"Why should they be angry?" John replied calmly. "It's not as though the priests or other people worship here any more. If I were a god, I'd want my house put to good use rather than have it stand empty year after year. We could fix it up so that this was a chapel where I came to worship. There's a big room at the other end of the house; I think it was both a dormitory and a kitchen at one time, but it would be a perfect place for you to practice your blade-play." 

"That's a strange pairing of activities," I said, laughing. 

"Well, we're a strange pair. Besides, the gods are like that as well, both fierce and merciful. Look at the Jackal." 

I bit my lip but could not keep a smile from creeping onto my face. "What is it?" John asked uneasily. 

"Would you like to meet a god?" I replied, battling to keep myself from bursting with the news. 

"Of course," he said with the serene confidence of a boy who had grown up amidst the terrifying rites of the priests. "Actually— It's silly, really." He began kicking his foot against the floor again. 

"No, tell me," I urged. 

He turned his head so that his face was shielded from the burning midsummer sky-blaze. His shadowed face turned nearly as dark as his eyes. "Actually, that's why I came here today. I suppose I'm as superstitious as the city folk, but I thought that if the gods ever visited this land, they'd come here, to their house. I thought maybe _my_ god would be waiting for me here." 

I was bouncing up and down on my toes now, unable to contain my secret any longer. "_I_ know where to meet a god. I saw one today." 

John stared at me, his eyes wide, but without the slightest mote of disbelief on his face. After a moment, he said, "The Jackal?" 

I nodded, pleased that he had understood so quickly. "It must have been him – he was wearing the god's face, just like the stories say. He was dressed all in black and moved as quietly as a mountain cat. I was scared into stone," I confessed unabashedly. 

"Did he speak to you?" John asked with a hushed voice. 

I shook my head. "It happened in the entrance to the cave. I was just about to travel through our passage, because I thought you might be waiting for me there, but I heard somebody coming, so I hid in the passage and looked out, and there he was, slipping out of the main tunnel. He didn't look my way, but I suppose he must have known I was there. I mean, he's a god." 

John tilted his head back against the wall and stared reflectively at the smoke-hole in the ceiling, located above where the altar had once stood. "Maybe not," he said hesitantly. "I asked Lovell once why the Jackal hasn't been able to drive the Emorians from Koretia. The Jackal has been in this land for twenty years, after all, and he has the god's powers. Lovell said he supposed that the Jackal must be limited in the ways he can use his godly powers, just as the gods limit the ways in which they interfere in men's lives. So perhaps the Jackal acts like an ordinary man most of the time. If that's the case, he may not have known that you were there." 

"Then I'm sure he didn't know I was there," I said confidently. "I've taught myself to be quiet and stealthy – you need to know how to act that way when you're a soldier, so that you can creep up on the enemy. But don't you see? The Jackal has made his lair in the cave! If we went there, we could ask the Jackal to make us his thieves, and we could begin fighting the Emorians now, before we became men." 

"But the Jackal has been up north, harassing the Emorians who have settled in the conquered portions of Koretia," John said, a frown creasing his forehead. "Why would he be here?" 

"Perhaps the Emorians are going to attack the capital next," I said in a matter-of-fact manner. 

John stood very still, his empty dagger-hand hanging next to his free-man's blade. Seeing his face, I said hastily, "Don't worry – if that happened, I'd protect you. I wouldn't let the Emorians kill you." 

"They'd kill other people," said John in a strained voice. "They'd kill lots of people, and if the city was captured, the Emorians would win the war. People are saying that our army can't hold out any longer in central Koretia – that the only reason our subcommander is still fighting is to keep the Emorians from reaching the capital." 

"Well, they won't," I said, hastily grasping for words that would reassure John and prevent him from worrying about the merciless Emorian soldiers. "I heard a trader talking last night who had just come back from the north. He said that our army is continuing to hold the Emorians back and that the Chara is furious, because he has been fighting this war for twelve years now, and his army still can't reach the capital. The Chara thought he had won the war when he killed our King last autumn, but even with no one on the throne, the King's Council has been able to keep the war going. So there's no way that the Emorians will be able to attack the city any time soon." 

John's expression eased somewhat, but he said, "The Emorians could cut across the border from Daxis. There are gaps in the mountain range not far from here." 

"Daxis won't allow Emor to do that," I said patiently, drawing closer to John to place a reassuring hand on his. John had been standing in the sun all this while, and his skin was moist with the sweat that clothed all of us in the south from spring to autumn. I closed my palm hard over his loose hand, as though I were wrapping my hand around a dagger hilt, and said, "Koretia has an alliance with Daxis that forbids the Daxions from allowing passage to the Emorian army. And anyway, we have border guards at the mountain gaps who would raise the alarm if the Emorians came near. So the Emorians can't attack through Daxis from the south or the west, and unless the Chara has suddenly acquired a navy, his soldiers can't attack from the eastern sea-coast. And our army is holding the Emorians back in the north. So you see, we're quite safe from being conquered by that godless ruler." 

John still had misery scribed upon his face, so I added, "I heard a new joke about the Chara." 

John smiled tentatively. "Tell me." 

"The joke asks: Which god does the Chara worship? The answer is: Only himself." 

John laughed then, a laugh I heard so rarely that I had come to welcome it like a cool breeze on a heat-snared day. He said, "I learned something about the Chara today too, during my lessons. I learned all of his titles." 

"What kind of lesson is that?" I asked, moving to where I could stare through the window to the city below. From this vantage point I could see the haphazard cluster of timber-framed houses jammed into the tight noose of the block-and-mortar city wall. Toward the south end of the city, nearest to me, was the glowing face of the Council Hall, with its cavestone-paved courtyard shining like a gold piece under the sky's fire. Tiny figures moved back and forth over it like dust specks: lords or free-servants or slave-servants, going about their appointed tasks. 

"It was a lesson in memorization. Listen to this . . ." John drew a deep breath and said, "Nicholas, the Great Chara of Emor and Its Dominions, Judge of the People, Commander of the Armies, Lord of the Marcadian Mountains, Ruler of the Arpeshian Nation, Master of the Koretian Land." 

"Master of the Koretian Land!" This infuriated me so much that I jerked out my slingshot and flung a missile wildly through the window at nothing in particular. A bird squawked in protest, but I could see, as it flew past the window, that it had only lost a few of its tail-feathers, so I was not disturbed. 

"Master of the Koretian Land." I snorted. "The Chara will never be master to me or any other loyal Koretian, not even if he wins this war. Now that the King is dead, our land belongs only to the gods. I can't see why Lovell made you memorize such a ridiculous set of titles." 

"I was asking him about the Chara," John said, staring so pointedly at my slingshot that I thrust it back under my belt. "Lovell says that the Emorian council gave the Chara that last title this spring in anticipation of the end of this war. Lovell thinks Koretia should become a dominion of the Emorian Empire – I wanted to know why." 

"May the Jackal eat his dead!" I said, losing hold of my temper entirely. "How could Lovell say such a thing?" 

John's breath whistled in. "You shouldn't swear such words," he said softly. "It's not wise to call down the god's vengeance without reason." 

"I'm sorry," I said, instantly chastened, as I always was when John scolded me. Then, wishing to make reparation, I said, "Well, tell me – what did Lovell say?" 

"He said that the Emorians would end the blood feuds – that in the conquered areas of Koretia, the Emorians have forbidden men from making blood vows to murder, and because of this, whole families aren't wiped out while fighting each other in feuds." 

I creased my brow in puzzlement. "But what about when somebody breaks the gods' law and refuses to submit himself to his god's judgment? How can people avenge crimes without taking blood vows to kill the law-breaker?" 

John leaned against the window jamb, folding his arms and cocking his head to one side. The long hair of his boyhood brushed against his shoulder. Already he was talking of having it cut and going through the coming-of-age ceremony several years early. Somehow I had not been surprised to learn that John was eager to become a man. 

"That's what I don't understand entirely," he said. "It has to do with one of the Chara's titles: 'Judge of the People.' Apparently, in Emor, the Chara and a few other men working under him are given the right to decide whether men have broken the law and what punishment they should undergo." 

"But that's awful!" I exploded. "The Chara isn't a priest – the gods don't tell him whether their laws are broken. When we take a blood vow to murder, we know that the gods will punish us if we break our vows or fulfill our vows against the wrong people, but what's to prevent the Chara from punishing the innocent or giving law-breakers harsh punishments just because he doesn't like them?" 

"That's what puzzled me," John replied. "Lovell said it had to do with the law – not the gods' law, but Emorian law. But he couldn't explain to me how the Emorians have laws when they have no gods. Some day I'd like to learn more about the Emorians. Maybe they're not as evil as everyone says. Maybe our lands don't have to be fighting each other." 

"That's—!" I stopped. A look of quiet stubbornness had entered into John's eyes that I recognized well. Knowing that I would not win any battle I now waged, I graciously admitted defeat. "I suppose there must be _something_ good about the Chara and his people, or they wouldn't have conquered most of the Great Peninsula. But Daxis is still free, and so is Koretia, and we'll never let the Chara be our ruler. We don't need his law. We have our gods, and they watch over us. Like the Jackal," I added, impatiently prodding the conversation back to where it belonged. 

"The Jackal," John murmured. I could see the glint of interest in his eyes. 

"He'd make us his thieves, I'm sure he would," I said. "Wouldn't that be a treasuresome experience, speaking to the god and pledging ourselves to his service?" 

"I wouldn't want to kill anyone," John demurred. "I'm not sure it's right to kill a man." 

"I don't suppose all of his thieves kill Emorians," I said. "Armies have men who don't fight, and I imagine that the Jackal does as well. Maybe he needs doctors to tend his thieves' wounds – you're good at that, thanks to your training." 

I could see enthusiasm fighting across John's face in an attempt to defeat uncertainty, so I said, "We could just ask him. If he didn't want us, we'd go away, but at least we would have the chance to talk to a god." 

"Well . . ." 

In that single word I read a slip into assent. I leapt toward the door, shouting, "I'll race you to the cave!" Without looking back, I darted from the sanctuary, charged out of the gods' house, and began running down the northern slope of Capital Mountain, toward the cave entrance. 

o—o—o

The impact of my leather sandals striking the forest floor was the softest noise on the mountainside. That sound was cowed into submissive silence by the force of the cicadas' song, the ravens' hoarse cries, and the harrowing call of a jackal who had started his night-prowl early. 

I passed a patrol on the way. The dozen soldiers were sitting on logs, chatting with each other as they ate a mid-afternoon meal. They greeted me in a friendly manner with fingers against heart and forehead, and then continued their talk. 

They did not look eager to return to patrolling. I could not blame them. Because it had been centuries since the Daxion army had last invaded us, and since most Daxions who tried to breach the border did so at the gaps on either side of this mountain, the patrol guards' main duty on this mountain was to track the Jackal, who was periodically rumored to make his lair near the city. They might as well track a shadow on a moonless night. 

Many minutes later, as I neared the clearing that led to the mouth of the cave, I glanced over my shoulder to see whether John was following. He was close behind, making no effort to overtake me. My brief look nearly caused me to tumble over a log, but with a crow of laughter I jumped over the obstacle, spreading my arms like wings as I soared through the air. Then, in a very few steps, I could see the cave entrance. 

Like the rest of Capital Mountain, it was composed of a pale sandstone too soft to be used as building material. The main cavern, I knew, was made of a stone that glowed a soft gold – not through any power of its own, but because of the algae that grew upon it. "Jackal's fire" the alga was commonly called. Yet beneath the algae, the stone was golden as well, and reflected brightly when brought into sunlight. This golden stone had been used to construct the walls and courtyard pavement of the Koretian Council Hall, though it was so hard to remove from the cave walls that most of the glowing stone had been left in the cave where it formed. 

I flung myself behind the ridge of rock that partly obscured the entrance on both sides, and then stood on tiptoe and peered over the ridge to watch John run the remaining ground with easy grace. As he reached me, I turned toward the main tunnel. After an eternity of winding, the tunnel would eventually reach the main cavern. But John caught hold of my sleeve and said, "Wait." 

"Why?" I asked, trying to pull myself free. Then I saw his face and ceased to struggle. 

He said quietly, "I thought about it more while we were running. The stories always say that the Jackal summons his thieves into service. I've never heard of a case where anyone came to him and begged to be taken into his service. The Jackal knows who we are and what we have to offer. If he wants us as his thieves, he'll let us know." 

"But you said before that his godly powers might not tell him everything, so—" I stopped. John had made no protest at my words, nor even moved, but the look in his eyes made me feel uneasy. I said quickly, "You know best about such matters. But couldn't we just watch him?" 

"Spy on the god?" John gave a relaxed smile. "You're braver than I am. I wouldn't want to face the hunting god with explanations if he caught me in such an act. Come on, let's go to the sanctuary." 

I shrugged to hide my disappointment and followed John as he slipped through the boy-sized hole that was hidden in a shadow of the hollowed-out entrance area. The light-truant passage that lay beyond the hole was a shortcut to the main cavern, but we rarely used it as such. It was not safe to do so. 

The land of Daxis lay to the west and southwest of Koretia, with the Daxions' capital city on the south side of the mountain. The cave – actually a series of caverns that had been carved through the mountain by men long ago – ran north-south from Koretia to Daxis. 

Both lands could see the strategic importance of the cave. Both wanted the cave. Various skirmishes had taken place over the centuries to determine who claimed this territory. At present, at least in theory, the cave was divided between the two southern lands of the Great Peninsula, with guards posted in the middle to prevent crossings over the border. 

It made no difference. Though the Daxion guards were skilled at keeping back genuine border-breachers, they had a tendency to turn a blind eye to men who wished to slip temporarily over the border from Daxis in order to cause trouble within the cave. As a result, Daxion troublemakers were wont to drill arrows into Koretians that they found in any part of the cave. 

The Koretian border guards in this cave, frustrated at their inability to prevent a conspiracy between the Daxion border guards and the troublemakers, were rumored to have called for a larger force of guards at this border. But the attention of the King's Council had for some time been focussed on the far more important border between Koretia and Emor, which was slipping south day by day. 

In the meantime, the arrow-drilling continued. So John and I would usually stop halfway down the passage in an area that John had christened the sanctuary: a small, round nook, like a bead on the string of the passage. It was located directly under a breach between the mountainside and the passage, and it therefore received a bit of the sun's light. 

It was here I had first met John two years before, on a day when I discovered the passage entrance, too small for a man and therefore of interest to no one except myself. Or so I had thought, until I reached the sanctuary. Furious at finding my new hideout claimed, I had offered to fight John for possession of the site, but had been discouraged to find that he both refused to fight and refused to leave. I had therefore taken out my frustration by asserting one of my radical new beliefs – that men, like women, should marry upon coming of age, rather than waiting several years, as was customary for men. 

My efforts to voice-duel with John were stymied, however, when I discovered he held the same view. I was further subdued when I learned he believed this, not because he wished to marry early like me, but because, as a future celibate priest, he was concerned with the welfare of the couples to whom he would minister. 

Puzzled by this self-possessed boy, I had accepted his invitation to visit the priests' house. There I found that, while John was well liked by the other orphan boys, he was isolated from them by his priestly ambitions and therefore had no close friends. With the impulsiveness I inherited from both my hot-tempered father and my affectionate mother, I promptly placed John under my care, resolving to protect him against any troubles that might come his way. I explained this resolution to him immediately, not out of pride but so that he would know he had nothing further to fear. He had accepted my proclamation of mastership with quiet submission, but there had been a faint smile on his face I could not interpret. 

Now, as we reached the bright, humid area of the sanctuary, John paused at the threshold with the same smile on his lips, and he whispered the words that priests speak to the gods when asking permission to enter holy ground. I waited impatiently behind him; I honored the gods, but I was not one to waste my time on customary demonstrations of respect. As the prayer reached its end, I jostled my way past him in order to kneel beside a pool of water that had collected from the morning's rain. Reaching down to dip my hands into the cool relief of the water, I paused to stare at my reflection, which I rarely saw. At the moment that I caught sight of myself, I had been chuckling inwardly at John's determination to worship the gods wherever he went, so the lines of my face were struggling to contain the laughter that poured out of my eyes and trembled upon my lips. I smashed the reflection in a gleeful assertion of my power; then I turned to look at John. 

He was kneeling beside a small heap of twigs he had taken from a pile he maintained in this place. His tinderbox had been taken from his belt pouch, and he had just succeeded in sparking the flint. The kindle-light fell upon the twigs and started them smoking. 

I waited until the tiny blaze was well under way and John had whispered the ritual words above his play sacrificial fire before I said, "That fire is the reason the Emorians haven't been able to conquer our land. The Jackal and the other gods aren't on the Chara's side; they would never allow the Emorians to win over us." 

John, sitting cross-legged beside the fire, cupped his left hand briefly over the flame before snatching it back from the heat. "The ways of the gods are mysterious, but certainly the gods must watch over those who seek their protection. The Chara claims he can shield the Koretians against our enemies if we surrender, but the gods can protect us better than any man. Perhaps the Chara should spend less time fighting and more time building fires to the gods." 

"Or building fires of any sort," I said with a laugh as I drew myself over to his side. "The reason the Chara hasn't won this war is that he doesn't know how to fight properly. What's the use of holding a battle over a town if the Chara leaves the town standing afterwards? Only a weakling would leave a town unburnt after he conquered it. No Koretian could fear an army commander who showed such mercy." 

"I don't think they fight with fire in Emor," murmured John. He carefully extinguished with dust the last of the sacrificial flames, and then rose to his feet and stared with bowed head at where the fire had burnt. 

I rose too and placed an arm around his waist, saying firmly, "Stop worrying. It won't happen." 

John did not look my way. He said softly, "Will you promise me something? If the Emorians attack, and you're not in immediate danger, will you stay at your house? I don't want to have to search the entire city for you." 

I gave him a reassuring squeeze before releasing him in order to twirl over to the opposite side of the small sanctuary. "I promise you, I'll stay where I am," I said. "If you get frightened at the priests' house, just come to me, and I'll take care of you." 

John raised his head then. "It's not that. It's that people become separated in war. It could take us years to find each other again . . . and if one of us died, we'd be separated by death. We might not even recognize each other when we met again." 

"That's silly," I said, speaking brusquely to cover my nervousness. "I'd know you even if we met in the Land Beyond." 

"Maybe not." John pushed back a forelock of hair that sweat had plastered against his brow. "People change, you know. Maybe one day, years from now, you'll be working in the city as a soldier, and I'll have become a priest who ministers to the Emorians—" 

"You wouldn't," I interrupted. "The Emorians don't worship the gods." 

"Maybe they will by then. Perhaps I'll turn up at your door and speak to you with an Emorian accent because I've spent so long with the Emorians, and you won't recognize me as a result. So you'll say, 'I beg that you impart to me your name,' and I'll tell you who I am, but you won't believe me because I've changed so much, and since I work with the Emorians, you'll shut the door and refuse to welcome me into your house." 

This dreadful little tale caused me to sag into such misery that I had no energy left with which to fight John's vision of the future. Watching my face, John said with the same quiet conviction, "I'll tell you what we should do. We should become blood brothers. That way, we'll always have the marks of our vows to remind us of one another, even if we never see each other again." 

I lifted my eyebrows in surprise. "You didn't want to do that when I suggested it last year." 

"I didn't think the time was right. I believe that you should wait for a sign from the gods before pledging your blood. You saw the Jackal today, so perhaps that's our sign. Do you remember the words?" He slid the dagger out of his sheath as he spoke. 

I nodded eagerly. "Can we swear vows of service to the gods also? That would make it even better." 

John was silent a moment, touching the tip of the dagger lightly with his finger. Then he said, "If we do that, I think we should offer a sacrifice. The gods have to help us keep our vows, and I don't think it would be right to ask their help with two vows unless we were willing to offer them a gift in return." 

I smiled, hopping from foot to foot at the thought of making three blood vows at once. John stared beyond me for a moment, his eyes focussed at the darkness of the passage beyond. Then he placed the dagger tip against his right wrist, selected the spot that all Koretians are taught from the moment they are cradle-high, and bit the blade into his arm, digging deep enough to make a scar that would remain. As he did so, he said, "I, John, do swear unto the Unknowable God and my blood brother's god that I will show true faith of friendship toward Andrew son of Gideon, protecting him against all harm and helping him to keep his vows. I bind myself with this vow until death and beyond. I further swear that I will do all that lies within my power to bring peace to this land. In token of my willingness to obey the will of the gods . . ." 

For the first time John hesitated. Then he said firmly, "I sacrifice unto the gods my desire to become a priest. If it be their will that I take up some other duty, I will do as they wish." 

I stood in hushed silence, watching a flicker of pain pass through John's eyes as he offered his sacrifice. Then he smiled at me and handed me the blood-stained blade. Cutting into my left wrist with a stoic determination not to flinch, since even John had kept from doing so, I said, "I, Andrew son of Gideon, do swear unto the Jackal God and the Unknowable God that I will show true faith of friendship toward John . . ." I hesitated and looked over at John, but he gave a quick shake of the head. Unlike the other orphan boys, he had not randomly selected a patronymic, any more than he had randomly selected a god to serve. I continued, "Toward John, protecting him against all harm and helping him to keep his vows. I bind myself with this vow until death and beyond. I further swear that I will do all that lies within my power . . ." I paused. An idea had formed in my mind; rather than give myself time to doubt its wisdom, I finished quickly, ". . . to bring freedom to Koretia and to kill the Chara." I grabbed John's arm and pressed his wrist against mine so that our blood mingled and our vows were joined. 

It was not until after John had gently pulled his arm away that I looked up at his face and realized what I had done. I offered him the dagger, hilt-first, and said, "You don't have to help me with that last part. That's just my own vow." 

John looked at the blade without moving. "We'll have to kill the Chara To Be also." 

"Who?" I asked, inwardly relieved that I would have help in fulfilling my difficult murder vow. 

"The Chara's son, Lord Peter. The Emorians regard him as also being the Chara, since he's the heir." 

"So we'll kill him too," I said testily, nonplussed at being burdened with a second murder. "It won't be that hard if we find them together." 

"I suppose not," said John softly. "The Chara's son is only a boy." 

Faintly above us, I could hear once more the eerie howl of the jackal as it closed in on its spoils. Angry at myself now for my impetuosity, I thrust the dagger forward once more and said, "Here. Clean it before the blood dries on the blade." 

John searched my face with his eyes before saying, "You didn't finish the vow. You have to offer your sacrifice." 

"Oh, that," I said carelessly. "I don't know what sort of sacrifice the god would like me to make, so I'll let the god choose whatever he wants. I'll give him anything I have." 

John said quietly, "You ought not to make that sort of offer unless you mean it." 

"I'm not afraid," I said with a laugh. I barely heard what I was saying; I was simply trying to hide my continued annoyance with myself at forcing my peacemaking friend to swear a murder vow. "I know that the god won't take anything from me that I truly need, and you may be sure I'll make good use of whatever he leaves me." I tossed the dagger into John's hands and then, since there was little room to move in the small passage, I twirled in one place like a bird caught within the vortex of a death wind. 

When I finally stopped, clutching the wall to steady my dizzy body, I saw that John was smiling as he wiped the blade clean on his tunic. He said, "Let's go see the Jackal now." 

"You mean it?" I bounced toward him in delight. 

John nodded. "Not to offer him our service – just to tell him about our vows and how we made them because you saw him. He'll be pleased to hear that." 

I did not wait for John to have doubts again but began to race down the dark passage toward the cave. I knew the passage so well that I could do this without fear of running into any obstacles. I had nearly reached the boy-sized opening that led to the final, shadowy stretch of the passage when John grabbed hold of me from behind and whispered, "Quietly! You can't burst into the god's presence like that. Pretend that you're a bottom-ranked soldier meeting your commander." 

This image sobered me, so I followed John's lead as he wriggled through the hole and began walking quietly toward the golden light. Already I could hear the sound of men's voices. Before we had stepped out of the masking darkness, I stopped to stare at what lay ahead. 

The glowing stone always filled the main cavern with dim light, but now the cavern was daylight-bright because a large bonfire had been built in the center of the area before us. The smoke, tickling our noses with the scent of pine needles, rose into the high ceiling, leaving the cave floor free of the dark mist. 

There would hardly have been room for the smoke in any case, so close-jammed were the men. Dozens of them stood near us, all dressed in soldiers' armor and all going about their business with an efficient intensity. Their hurried yet steady movements reminded me of the visits I had made as a small child to where my father worked. There at the Koretian army headquarters I had watched soldiers burnishing their shields, whetting their blades, and securing their spearheads. Here too I could see all these activities, but with one difference. As I felt John draw close to me, I realized that he too had noted the difference: these men had skin the color of sandstone. 

We had found the Emorian army.


	2. The Gods' Land | 2

**CHAPTER TWO**

It was not the entire army, of course. Most of the Emorian soldiers must still be fighting in the north, fooling our subcommander into thinking that the Koretian capital remained safe from attack. What we were seeing, at a guess, was the Chara's vanguard, the section of the army that attacks first and swiftest. Only the vanguard could make its way down Daxis quickly enough to arrive at the Daxion side of the mountain without forewarning. 

Even then, if the troops attempted to circle Capital Mountain by going around its sides, the Koretian divisions left guarding the city would receive advance notice, and the Emorians would lose their element of surprise. Instead, the Emorians – having persuaded the Daxions to break their alliance with Koretia, having prepared to sneak through the back door of Koretia – had added to their cleverness by plotting to pour down the mountain by way of the cave. The head of the vanguard was already stationed here, awaiting the right moment. 

All of this came to me later. At the time, I underwent only shock at the Emorians' knavish scheme and – it cannot be denied – keen pleasure at having found out their secret. I looked around at the soldiers. The rank insignia they used were familiar to me, for the colors of the cloaks and tunic borders were universal signs within the armies of the Three Lands of the Great Peninsula. But instead of the Jackal-black uniforms that Koretian soldiers wore, these soldiers were dressed in brown, as though they were peasants or priests. It seemed an odd color for the rich land north of us to choose for its army. 

I thought I glimpsed a couple of men uniformed in grey, chatting with ease with one of the Emorian lieutenants. I stared hard at the Daxion border guards, wondering what had happened to the Koretian border guards. Had the Daxion guards let arrow-armed men through to kill the Koretian border guards? Or had the Emorian army taken care of this task? Or perhaps the Daxion guards, pretending to meet with the Koretians over some routine border matter, had turned with treachery upon the other guards and had slaughtered them in a moment meant for peace. 

All of these images sent a chill of thrill through me. I looked over at John, eager to exchange a grin with him, or, if this were too much to ask, at least a reassuring look. But John's eyes were still on the men before us. I followed the direction of his gaze to a single, tall soldier. 

Amidst the brown tunics and black leather armor of the soldiers, this man would have stood out, if only for his peacock-proud display of colors. He wore a flame-red tunic beneath his armor, and the sword by his side glinted silver and gold. Most of the soldiers around us had reddened faces, wet with sweat – I supposed that these northerners were too frail to stand a Koretian midsummer. Despite this, the tall man was wearing a thick cloak that fell from his shoulders like a smooth fall of water and was woven in the highly impractical color of gold. There did not appear to be a single spot of dirt on the cloak, and I concluded from this, with not a little contempt, that the man's finery was not usually put to the test on the field. Like the other soldiers, however, he was wearing a thick helmet, pushed up slightly. The cheek-guards hiding the sides of his amber beard caused his eyes to stand out like bright blue sapphires upon his pale face. Above those eyes, attached to the helmet and glimmering gold, were the ruby-studded points of a diadem. 

I only became aware that my breath had travelled swiftly inward when I noticed John looking my way. His eyes were sober, but he still made no gesture indicating that he wished to retreat. It was unlikely, in any case, that anyone would look our way, for the Emorians were busy with other matters: the lieutenants of each unit were issuing orders to their men, the subcaptains were checking that each unit was ready, and the captains were gathered in a cluster around their commander. He scarcely moved from where he stood, but at each sweeping movement of his arm, one of the captains would turn without a word and leave the gathering. Moments later the captain would give word to his subcaptains, the subcaptains would spread the word to their lieutenants, and within a short time, several dozen men would move – all of this the result of one man's single movement. Watching the commander, I could not help but feel that the energy of the entire vanguard was contained in each carefully controlled gesture. 

"We ought to go," John whispered in my ear. "They may see us at any moment." 

I frowned at him and shook my head. To my relief he did not press the issue, perhaps because he feared that the soldiers would hear him speaking. I waited until John's gaze was firmly fixed on the scene before us again, and then I let my thoughts wander to the commander. One man, directing all the destructive force around us. One man, deciding the fate of Koretia. If that one man were gone . . . 

I am not sure that I thought through what I was doing. I certainly did not think as far as realizing what danger I was placing John in by my actions. I simply pulled out my slingshot, armed it with a stone, and stepped out of John's line of vision so that he would not see what I was doing. Then I lined up my shot. 

It was hard to get a clear line; I did not want to chance having my shot land on the head of one of the captains. There, right on the forehead, was where I wanted the stone to land – right below the commander's royal helm. . . . 

The crowd around the commander shifted slightly. There was a clear space now between him and me. I pulled the sling back . . . and at that moment the crowd shifted again, and I saw the boy. 

He was facing in our direction, his head turning this way and that as he stared at the soldiers around him. He was about a year older than John, and he was wearing a shapeless brown tunic similar to John's. He wore no armor, which made him look defenseless in this setting. His hair, lit by the nearby fire, was as golden as the sun, and his eyes, which I could just see, were grey like brook-pebbles. He stared around with distinct eagerness; then he turned toward the commander and tugged at his cloak. 

The commander was in mid-sentence of issuing an order. He looked down instantly as the boy said something. The boy's words did not carry as far as my ears, but he was pointing toward the Koretian entrance to the cave, and it was obvious that he was asking permission to explore further. The commander answered with a decisive shake of his head, and then turned back to his captains. The boy let go of the commander's cloak, his expression falling into disappointment, but he made no effort to argue the matter. Instead, he began walking around to each unit, ignored by the men who were feverishly preparing for battle. He stared up at the soldiers with hungry eyes, and once, when no one was looking his way, he went over and touched the commander's sword sheath lightly with his hand, as though placing his palm on a sacred object. 

The hand holding my slingshot had fallen to my side; I had forgotten everything now except the yearning boy. I jumped as I felt a touch on my arm. John whispered, "Let's go now while nobody's looking this way." 

I nodded without removing my gaze from the commander's boy. "You go first," I whispered back, and then was barely aware of the sound of John retreating back through the passage. The boy was coming closer. At any moment he would turn, and I would be able to see him more clearly. . . . 

He turned, and our eyes met. 

I felt a roaring in my ears, as though a great wind had suddenly rushed into the cave, obscuring the sounds of the army before me. I could no longer see the soldiers. All that I could see were the grey eyes, staring at me with astonishment and something more that I could not identify. 

Part of me knew that I should run, but some other voice seemed to whisper in my ear, "Stay." So I stood where I was, motionless and mute, and the boy stared back at me, his eyes wide, his lips parted slightly. Then he opened his mouth. 

I never learned what he was going to say. At that moment I heard a shout, and my thoughts were jerked back into awareness of the scene around me. I looked beyond the boy and saw that the commander had evidently been alerted by his son's gaze. He had seen me and was shouting orders to his captains. The boy swung his head around in response to the shouting, and as he did so, I turned, squeezed my way through the hole, and fled up the passage. 

I was less afraid than I might have expected to be. I knew that the soldiers could not enter the passage, and I was sure that I would be able to escape from the cave before they arrived at the entrance. My mind was focussed on the sound of my footsteps pounding soft against the rock floor and the echo of their sound beating against the walls. 

I reached the passage entrance, scrambled through the other hole, and stood listening. Faintly I could hear the sound of men shouting through the main tunnel, but more clearly than that I could still hear, in the narrow passage from which I had just emerged, the sound that I had taken to be an echo: the soft rhythmic pounding of a boy running. I waited. 

A hand pulling at my arm jerked me out of my silent contemplation of the sound. "They're coming!" said John in soft desperation, and at his anxious look I remembered whom I was supposed to be protecting. Grabbing his hand, I fled a short distance. Then, envisioning the easy target that John and I would make for the soldiers' spears if we tried to flee now, I thrust us under the prickly-leaved cover of a wild-berry bush and pulled us both to the ground. 

Silence followed. John had buried his head in his arms, but I lifted mine and peered through the thin shielding of needle-pointed leaves to look at the cave entrance. There, standing within the sheltering arms of the entrance rocks, was the boy. I could barely see his head, swivelling back and forth to take in his surroundings. He took a hesitant step forward, then stopped and looked back. The shouting had stopped, but the sound of thundering footsteps was clear amidst the drowsy hum of the late-afternoon cicadas. The boy turned abruptly, took another long, anxious look at the unknown surroundings before him, and stepped out of the shelter of the rocks. 

At that moment, three things happened simultaneously. I half-rose from my hiding place; the commander suddenly emerged from the main tunnel and snatched the boy back; and a dagger, soaring swift and clean as a swallow, travelled over John's buried head and shot up to the cave entrance, landing where the boy had been the moment before. 

I caught a glimpse of John as he suddenly raised his face, his eyes staring blindly at something other than the scene before us. Then I fell once more to the ground and tried to flatten myself like a blood-worm against the piercing leaves that were our bed. All about us I could hear the thunder of men's feet and the sound of softened commands; evidently the commander did not want to alert any more Koretians to his army's presence, even at this moment. Then, after a while, there was silence again. 

I looked up and saw that the cave mouth was once more empty. Beside me, John was beginning to sidle out from cover. 

"Wait!" I hissed, grabbing his wrist. "We don't know whether they've gone uphill or down." 

"What do we do, then?" John whispered back. "We can't stay here." 

I pulled the front half of my body up like a baby trying to rise to its feet, frantically listened for the sound of returning soldiers, then grabbed hold of John and said, "This way!" 

John, ever trusting, followed me as I ran straight back toward the cave. A second's glance showed me that the entrance was empty. I dived my way through the rocks and began running toward what now seemed appropriately named our sanctuary. 

I placed my arm around John when we reached there, squeezing him tight to reassure him, but quickly let my arm fall as he winced. "You're all covered in scratches," I said accusingly. 

John put his hand up to his mouth to smother a half-sob, half-laugh. "Well, look at you." 

I stared down at my green tunic, which was now torn and covered with purple wild-berry juice. One thin red gash made its way down my arm from elbow to wrist, just missing the line of my blood vow. I began to shiver, and to cover this fact, I said, "We'll be safe here. They'll never guess that we've returned to where we fled from – and they can't get in here anyway." 

I left unvoiced my thought that one Emorian could come here. I doubted that the commander would let the boy out of his sight again after what had happened at the cave entrance. 

John had his arms folded tight against his chest, but he said nothing. He was staring at the dark passage we had just left behind, and I realized that his thoughts were not on the Emorians. I asked in a hushed voice, "Was it the Jackal?" 

I had no doubt that John would know the answer. He stared for a moment longer, and then said in a low voice, "I think so. I felt something even before I saw the dagger. He was— I can't describe it. But I'm sure it was him." 

"But he missed!" I said. "Gods don't miss when they try to kill, do they? Or perhaps it's like Lovell said, that the Jackal can't always use his godly powers." 

"Maybe," said John slowly. "Or maybe he wasn't really trying to kill the Chara's son. Maybe he was just trying to frighten him." 

"But why would he—?" 

I closed my mouth. Faintly through the passage, toward the cave entrance, we could hear the sound of men once more. John stiffened and raised his jaw, but he did not move. His left hand was still hanging loosely by his side, not touching the dagger. 

I whispered, "You had better let me take the dagger. That way, the soldiers won't kill you, because you'll be unarmed." 

"Death isn't what I fear." 

John had a way of speaking, softly and simply, words that were most chilling. I stared at him, and then looked back down the passage toward where the sounds were continuing. I said finally, "Would we have to wear masks, do you think?" 

John shook his head. "Lovell told me that slaves in Emor don't wear masks – no one performs the death rite on them, and they're treated just like any living person. They can speak to other people, and people can speak to them. I suppose," he added in a tone oddly reflective for such a tense moment, "that if I had to be a slave, I'd rather live in Emor than in Koretia." 

"I wouldn't," I said flatly. "Imagine being away from your homeland, living amongst those godless men! I'd rather be one of the Living Dead than serve our enemy." 

"But you could still find a way to serve the gods even if you were living in—" John stopped. He had heard, as I did, the growing silence at the cave entrance. Impetuously, I began to tiptoe forward, not looking to see whether John was following. I reached the hole and peered through it to the shadow-mottled entrance. 

A unit of soldiers was just passing into the main tunnel. The only men who still stood in the entrance were the Chara Nicholas and a subcaptain. The latter was pointing with his finger toward the mountain slope and shaking his head. It was clear that he was reporting he had failed in his mission. The Chara had an expression on his face that appeared to be carved out of the stones around us; it made me more nervous than I had been all that day. He whirled suddenly, his cloak billowing forth like a sun-gilded cloud. 

As he did so, I saw that standing behind him was the boy, his bowed face even whiter than before. The Chara placed his hand firmly on the boy's shoulder. Without looking up, the Chara's son allowed himself to be driven back into the cave. 

I hesitated, looking over my shoulder at the passage that would take us back to the cave, but I could feel John standing warm against me. So I whispered, "Now!" and began to scramble out of the hole. 

John caught hold of me, pulling me back. "Uphill or down?" he asked. 

Uphill meant that we would head for the priests' house. "Down," I said firmly. "We have to let our army know about the Emorians." 

"But they won't believe us," said John, his voice low. "They'll think we're just telling boys' tales." 

I leaned against the passage stone, which was beginning to turn cool with the arrival of evening. "They'll believe my mother – the soldiers know her. We'll tell her first, and she can come with us to the headquarters." 

John was silent a while, and I began to wonder whether he was afraid of coming near soldiers again, even those on our own side. Finally he said softly, "I have to go tell the priests about the Jackal. They'll want to know that he's here." 

I swallowed my disappointment and said, "We each have our separate duties – it often happens that way in the army. I tell you what I'll do: I'll go down and warn the soldiers, and then I'll come back here and fetch you before the fighting begins. Then we can watch the fighting together." I grinned at the knowledge that I would finally have the chance to witness a battle. 

John did not reply with a smile. Instead he placed his palm upon my forehead and whispered briefly. My body tingled as I realized that he was placing me under the protection of the gods, in the same manner that priests bless soldiers before battle. Then, as though anything he could have said after that was superfluous, he slid past me and wriggled through the hole, leaving me to make my way down to the city alone. 

o—o—o

It was fire weather. The air was flat and motionless, and there was little chance that any city fire would spread to the countryside. Even so, I took a moment when I arrived at the city wall to stare at the shallow moat surrounding it. It was tinged brown with silt and was lower than usual, as there had been little rain since early spring, but it was still wide enough to form a reassuring barrier. I stepped into the water and waded through to the wall. Ordinarily, I would have stripped myself first, but my clothes were in such a ragged state now that mud could not hurt them. When I reached the wall, I crawled into my secret tunnel. 

John and I had discovered this tunnel under the wall during the previous winter. It had not been there in past years when I explored the dry ditch that hugged the inside of the city wall. When I consulted him, John suggested that it might have been dug by the Jackal. I thought it was more likely a smuggler's route, aimed at avoiding the taxes on importation of goods from Daxis to the capital city. But we never met whoever had dug it, and as far as we could tell, no other boys had discovered it, for it was well hidden by a tree within the dry ditch. 

Most likely the tunnel was of no interest to any boys other than ourselves. The main roads from the city departed from the east and west gates, and this tunnel only led south to the trackless mountainside. But it served as a great boon to me, for it saved me from having to walk down the winding road from the priests' house to the main road, and then travel from there to the west gate. 

Now I scrambled out of the inner ditch, checking first, in proper soldier fashion, that no one would notice my unorthodox entrance into the city. As I emerged, I saw that further impediments lay on my journey. It was twilight, and the stall-keepers were beginning to close the market that spread from the open square before me to the northern side of Council Hill. Wooden boxes were being loaded onto carts, streams of men and women were entering a new tavern just opened on the square, and soldiers released from their day duties poured out of the army headquarters nearby. If I tried to take the straight route home, this crowd might delay me for ages. 

Instead, I chose a road I almost never followed, partly because my father had long ago forbidden me from doing so. The other reason was because, on one of the few occasions on which I had disobeyed his order, I had run straight into a group of council lords. They had laughed and let me go my way, but I had learned my lesson. 

It was a road that skirted the army headquarters, ran up the side of Council Hill, and passed straight through the hilltop courtyard between the magnificent Council Hall and the shabby wooden slave-quarters opposite. From there, the road led down almost directly to my own house, which was at the foot of the wooded hill-slope. 

Judging that my father would have understood the necessity of haste on this day, I ran up the tree-arched road, my mind less on the news of danger I was carrying than on the grey-eyed boy whom I had seen. I wondered whether his father would allow him to witness the battle or whether, having disobeyed his father's order to stay in the cave, he would be punished by being left behind. To my mind, there was no greater punishment that any boy could endure than to miss seeing a battle. 

My thoughts were so far from the present that I barely noticed when I ran under the low, unguarded arch leading to the council courtyard. I only became aware of where I was when I ran into a man. 

Speaking swiftly in order to get my apology out before the nobleman before me grew angry, I said, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to—" Then I stopped. I had tilted my head back and could now see what I was speaking to. 

He was holding me back from him – an automatic reaction, I imagine, since I had run straight into him. Now his grey-gloved hands fell to his sides, and he looked mutely down at me. He was dressed from toe to neck in funeral ash-grey, and this color was matched by that of the iron death-mask that he wore, like all corpses. I caught a glimpse of his eyes, staring at me with surprise, before I realized what I was doing and looked quickly away. 

My heart beat hard. No one, I was sure, would report a young boy for talking to a slave, even if I had been overheard in this empty courtyard. But would the gods curse me for what I had done? I wondered how they would judge me for talking to a man who was god-cursed – a man who, though his body had mercifully been spared death, was now treated as though he were a living corpse, exiled from all human contact. 

I could no longer see the slave's eyes, but as I moved past him – it, I corrected myself – I saw its shoulders slump and its spine bow forward. I had a sudden, terrible vision of what it must be like to live one's life under the complete mercy of others. 

Since I could not know how the gods would judge my actions, I thought instead of John, for I was sure he knew what the gods wanted better than any of the priests. And I instantly knew that John would never silently pass by anyone who was suffering, god-cursed or not. 

I turned back and said in a low voice, "I'm sorry." 

The slave had been on the point of entering its quarters; now it looked back at me. Its expression was hidden under the mask, of course, and I could not tell what it was thinking. Unwilling to look at its eyes directly, and unable to voice the thoughts that were truly in my mind, I said softly, "I'm sorry, sir. I didn't mean to knock into you like that." 

For a moment, the slave was still. Then its back straightened as though it had just been given a healing drink. With slow dignity, the slave bowed its head in acknowledgment of my forbidden words. 

I waited for nothing more. Already warm with embarrassment and fear at what I had done, I turned and fled the courtyard. I did not stop running until I reached my house. 

I paused at the open threshold, both to recover my breath and to steady my thoughts. My mother could not afford to light fires in the warm summer evenings, and so the room was dim with dusk-light. But I could hear the clatter of the loom, and between the rhythmic passing of the shuttle I could see my mother sitting, using the last fragments of daylight to finish her work. 

She had already reached her twenty-fifth year. This was due to the fact that she had married late, provoking good-hearted jokes from my father about how he preferred mature women to youthful ones. I could detect a trace of silver in her earth-brown hair that made me wonder what it was like to grow old. For a moment I was glad that my coming of age would not take place for another eight years. Then my mother looked up and saw me, and her smile was so full of beauty and affection that I forgot all about pitying her. 

The smile did not last long. In the next moment she had leapt up from her stool and was hurrying over to look at me. 

"By the gods of day and night!" she exclaimed. "What have you been doing with yourself? Just look at those scratches, all covered with mud! Come over here and wash yourself— No, wait, drink this first." 

I automatically took and drank from the small skin of wine that she pulled out of a chest and thrust into my hands. I was thinking that any other parent would have immediately scolded me for ruining my only tunic, but my mother, as usual, thought first of my welfare. 

"God of Mercy, Andrew," she said with a laugh that indicated she had already forgiven me. "How do you expect to live long enough to become a soldier if you keep tumbling down the mountainside? You ought to let John plan your expeditions. He has sense enough to keep the two of you from trouble if you'd only let him have his way now and then." 

I submitted to her vigorous scrubbing with a wet cloth only because I did not wish to fall into an argument about irrelevancies. "Mother, I saw the Chara! He's here with his army!" 

My mother, who had been trying without much success to remove dirt from my long hair, stilled her cloth. "What do you mean? The Emorians are up north." 

I explained, at first quickly; then, once I saw that I had a rapt audience, with as much detail as I could muster. Only two facts did I omit. One was the Jackal's strange assassination attempt, if that was what it had been. The other – for reasons I did not try to analyze – was my sighting of the Chara's son. 

Not far into the story, my mother went over to the door and shut it, and then shuttered the windows so that we stood in near darkness. By the end of my narrative, I felt dizzy from the telling and went to sit on my floor-mattress, which was tucked into the corner of the single-chambered house. The pallet was big enough for two, and I had often wished that I had a brother or sister with whom to share it. Now it served as a place for my mother to join me as I finished my tale. 

She interrupted me as I began to tell her about talking to the slave – I had long since forgotten about omitting irrelevancies, and in any case, I was hoping for her reassurance that I had done the right thing. My mother, though, had her mind on other matters. 

Fingering the slingshot she had taken from my belt, she said, "This tunnel through the wall – it's marked by a tree, you say?" 

I stared at her. Then, feeling my head grow more fuzzy, I lay back against the pallet. "Does that matter?" I asked. 

"If the Chara is trying to surprise our soldiers, he may want to steal into the city," my mother said slowly. "He may know about this tunnel from his spies' reports – or perhaps from the tales of a Daxion smuggler – and may use it as a way to sneak in some of his men." 

After a moment, I thought to close my gaping mouth. "You ought to be a soldier," I said with open admiration. 

"Your father taught me a lot," she murmured. She rose suddenly, put aside the slingshot, and brushed from her gown some of the dirt that had clung to her from me. "I'll be back as quickly as I can. If anything happens before I return, run next door and follow wherever Raoul and his family go." 

"But I want to go with you!" I tried to raise myself onto my elbow, but some dark heaviness seemed to weigh me down. 

"You can't," my mother said with a sad smile. "I'm sorry, but that was drugged wine I gave you. I thought you would need help sleeping tonight, what with all those scratches. I never would have given it to you if I'd known what you were going to tell me." 

"You're as sneaky as the Emorians," I mumbled. I was too tired even to protest that I was missing my chance to be savior to the Koretian army. My eyelids began to plunge down; then I opened them again as I felt my mother touch me on the arm. She was still smiling. 

"Thank you for coming to me with this, rather than rushing off on your own," she said. "I appreciate how you have trusted me." 

"Well, you're a soldier's widow," I said sleepily. "You're more sensible than most women. When I come of age, I'll find myself someone who is as wise as you are. Soldiers need smart wives." 

She laughed, kissed my forehead, and left me dreaming of the woman I would one day marry. 

o—o—o

I awoke to fire. 

Part of the roof crashing onto the loom undoubtedly saved my life, for I jerked awake from its sound to find myself choking on black smoke, as though someone were pouring earth down my throat. For a moment I thought I was trapped in a nightmare. Then I realized what was happening and scrambled to my feet. 

I arose too quickly, though. My drugged head spun, the smoke pinned my lungs to the wall of my chest, and I fell to my knees, coughing and holding my arm against my face to protect it from the fire that was eating at the fallen timber around me. 

The house contained a strange mixture of shadings: as dark as a night-black storm in the center and as bright as a noonday sun on the edges. Sweat oozed like a cool rock-spring onto my skin, released from my body by the heat of the fire. An ember, as red as a demon's eye, fell upon my bare leg, and I opened my mouth to scream, but was smothered by the blanket of smoke that forced itself into my throat, pushing back all attempts at breath. I flung my hands forward, trying to crawl blindly toward one of the fiery walls, then felt my legs shake and collapse. 

For a moment, all was still. I heard nothing but the harsh tongue of the fire and saw nothing except the smoky darkness that had swallowed the house. Then something pulled at my shoulders, and I felt myself being dragged over the floor, pushed past flames that towered over me in an arch, and flung to the ground once more. 

Fresh air, painful in its suddenness, poured into my mouth, and I began to cough again. I could do nothing for some time except crouch over the ground, first coughing, and then throwing forth the contents of my stomach. Finally, moist with sweat and spittle and sickness, I lifted my head and saw John. 

He was kneeling beside me in the street, his tunic torn in spots, his body black with soot, and his hair singed short by the fire. He leaned over and shouted into my ear over the growing roar of the fire, "Your mother!" 

I felt a jolt inside my rib cage before I remembered. "She went to the army headquarters!" I cried back. 

"She'll be safest there," John replied. Tugging at my hand, he pulled me to my feet and began to half-lead me, half-drag me through the fire-flanked street. 

The thundering shout of the fire was too deep for me to hear any cries, and the night-covered streets were oddly deserted, all living inhabitants having already fled. Only the dead lay strewn about the streets like pieces of rubbish brought out to be burned. The fire had already swallowed some of them. Since I had seen many a funeral pyre, it did not disturb me to see the Jackal eating his dead, as the Koretians put it. But John and I both halted abruptly when we rounded a corner and found, crawling on the ground before us, a glowing, screaming figure of a man, trapped in the flames that cocooned him like a well-fitted tunic. 

His spirit was gone before either of us could react. We saw his body collapse and his untouched eyes grow dim. John recovered before I did, towing me past the body with a grip as tight as an eagle's talons. The fire around us grew brighter and louder as we ran. 

Then he stopped again. I had to clutch the side of a building to keep from tripping over him. Peering cautiously over his shoulder, I saw that we had reached the market square that was our last stretch of ground before we reached the tunnel. 

The brightly colored market stalls, made of thin wood and cloth, had already disintegrated into sullenly glowing cinders. All of the houses around the square were ablaze, and the fire was crawling its steady and deadly way over the fallen timbers in the square. Only a small patch of open ground remained between us and the tunnel – and in that area was an Emorian soldier. 

He was lying front-down on the ground as we arrived. Then he rose to his knees, his back to us, and brought his sword down hard on some object hidden from our view. After that, he remained where he was, kneeling and looking at the object. 

John shouted in my ear; it was as good as a whisper in the fire-storm around us. "We'll have to wait!" 

"We can't!" I said. "Look at the fire!" 

As I spoke, a house not far from us collapsed into the street, crumbling like a flame-deadened log. John looked over his shoulder at it, and then at the soldier, who had risen to his feet but was still lingering over the object before him. Finally John said, "I'll go first. If he doesn't see me, he won't see you, and if he sees me, it will give you time to get past him." 

He had the look on his face that would accept no argument. Feeling bewildered that my plans to rescue him had gone awry, I let my gaze fall to the sheathed blade at John's side. 

As I raised my gaze upward once more, my eyes met John's, and we stared at each other uncertainly. Then I used the one argument I knew John would accept: "It's dedicated to the Unknowable God, as you are. You keep it, and the god will tell you what to do." 

After a moment, John nodded; then he turned without a word and began running as close as he dared to the facade of fire along the row of houses. He did not look the soldier's way, so I was the only one who saw the soldier raise his head as John darted by. I jammed my fists against my mouth, but before I had time to formulate a plan, the soldier turned his head away, clearly uninterested. 

To me, the scene was like a note of victory on war trumpets. I pushed myself away from the house and began running the path John had taken, seeking to escape as quickly as I could from both the soldier and the agony of the fire's touch. I tried to keep my eyes on John, who had nearly reached the ditch, but I did not have his steadiness of purpose, and as I passed the soldier, I looked the Emorian's way and saw what it was that he had been loitering over. 

I caught only a quick glimpse of the woman, clothed in blood, before I cried, "No!" I did not think of what I was doing as I swerved my path; I was not sure whether I was headed toward the soldier or his victim. But as I came close to them both, the soldier reached out with his arms and pulled me captive against his chest. 

I struggled, of course, but it was like a struggle I had once seen and had had nightmares about for weeks afterwards: a slave had defied the gods by using his voice and had been burned on a funeral pyre as punishment. Since he was one of the Living Dead, no effort had been made to kill his body before it was placed on the pyre, and so he had struggled in his funeral bindings as the flames approached him. 

The soldier was growling words as I tried to break free of him. Under other circumstances, I would have considered this a fine lesson in Emorian curses. I tried to loosen the grip of his right hand – it had an old war-scar on it from thumb to index finger, and the hand was therefore awkwardly wrapped around his sword hilt. I managed only to swing our bodies in the direction I had been running, and in that moment, the soldier stopped swearing and I stopped struggling, for we had both seen what was running towards us. 

Of course it was John, but he had a look on his face I had never seen before. His teeth were bared like that of a wild animal's, and his mouth turned up at the corners like the edges of a crescent moon. A high, wailing battle cry emerged from his throat, rising above the sound of the fire, and his fingers were tight on the dagger he held upraised. But the oddest and most terrifying sight of all was his eyes: amidst the violence of the rest of his face, they were very, very calm. 

I think that the eyes must have frightened even the soldier. I heard him mutter something which sounded like "God of Mercy" but which must have been some Emorian prayer of preservation. Then he thrust me aside, raised his sword, and brought it down upon John's upraised face. 

I saw the blade land a short distance away from John's composed eyes. Then I closed my eyelids, and when I lifted them a moment later, John was lying on the ground, his mouth open and still, and his blood-soaked eyes staring as they had so often before, at nothing in this world. 

The soldier was chalk-white as he stared down at John, though whether from remorse at what he had done or surprise that his assailant was so young I could not be sure. I did not give myself time to think about it. I hurtled myself at John's dagger, fallen from his motionless hand, and then jumped up and whirled around, facing the unnerved soldier. 

"I'm going to kill you," I said in Emorian, speaking in a voice that was not as steady as I would have liked. "I'm going to kill you and the Chara and all the Emorians. May the Jackal eat his dead—" And as my curse ended in a sob, I lunged forward. 

The scene, like a tapestry upon a wall, was filled with images that froze in my mind: my mother, lying half-naked on the ground, still moist with blood and with the soldier's fluids; John, resting only a few paces from the fire, which was advancing to eat its spoils; and the soldier, raising his sword above me in a motion that would reach me before I had time to use my dagger. I witnessed all this with a dark acceptance that was almost peaceful. Then, at the last moment, I saw the sword turn in the soldier's hand so that the hilt was now pointed downward to strike my head. And as I realized with horror that the Emorian would deprive me even of this, the honor of dying with my blood brother, I opened my mouth and screamed— 

o—o—o

The dream ended then, as it always did, in the scream that travelled from the mouth of an eight-year-old boy to my own mouth, so that I woke from the sound of my cry. I was sitting upright in bed, trembling, and the sweat on my body was already beginning to chill in the cool Emorian morning. 

I dropped my face into my hands, and as the moments passed, I felt the passionate lines of my face transform, without any effort on my part, into something different. When I raised my head again, I was wearing the mask of composure and detachment that no one in this land had ever seen me without, save one man. 

Rising from my bed, my movements smooth and unhurried now, I walked over to a basin sitting on my mantelshelf and washed the sweat and tearstains from my face. The water ran over my hands and wrists, moistening, as it went, the white line of an old scar. I stepped back and caught a brief sight of myself in the small looking glass: my face was set in harshly rigid lines of dispassion, and my eyes were colder than dark ice. I was dark-haired, as any Koretian would be, but a Koretian man of twenty-three years would have had browner skin and would have been wearing a man's beard. Nor would he have donned the Emorian tunic I reached for a few minutes later. The wool, finely woven though it was, would have been too heavy for a Koretian summer. A Koretian tunic, if decorated, would have had lines that branched together and sprang apart in random patterns, as though the lines were twigs intertwining in a tree. My own tunic had a simple symmetric pattern of straight lines. I had chosen the design myself. 

Finished with my dressing, I opened the doors into the next chamber. 

He was not there, but the evidence of his presence was. The room was in uncharacteristic disarray: cushions tossed from the reclining couch, law books pulled from their shelves, and items pushed around on his writing table. This was his sitting chamber, used as a place to relax in the evenings, and it was surrounded on all sides by doors. His sleeping chamber was to the left of where I stood, with the door to the corridor on my right. The door I had just stepped through had been cut only the previous summer, when I moved out of the small sleeping chamber opposite, which was reserved for his free-servant. Officially, he had a new free-servant, but in reality, I made sure he had no need of one. 

I stepped forward and picked up the cushions, returned the books to their shelves, and stacked the papers neatly on the table. Then I reached up and pulled from his mantelshelf the scroll of paper from where I had seen him place it the night before. 

I went back to the table, where I had noticed but not yet read the sheet of paper awaiting me. He had phrased it in formal language. I had never seen him write an informal letter, for such a message might be read by the wrong people and become a weapon against him, turning like a blade to cut his own hand. Though formal, the letter was written in a hurried fashion, without salutation or signature:   


> _Andrew son of Gideon, palace guest of the Chara, is summoned  
to appear in the presence of the Chara in the Map Room._

  
Beneath the message was a circular seal of red wax, imprinted with the royal emblem of the Chara. 

I held the Chara's letter in my hand for a moment more, and then left the chamber in order to meet with my master.


	3. Land of the Chara | 1

**_Blood Vow_ 2**   
**LAND OF THE CHARA**   


**CHAPTER ONE**

As I stepped into the corridor that ran between the Map Room and the Court of Judgment, the Chara's guards took no notice of me, frozen as they were on each side of the doorway I walked through. I turned right and began to make my way down the dimly lit passage, its only illumination being the high clerestory windows. On each side of the corridor were rooms belonging to council lords, court officials, and palace guests. I knew that those rooms looked much the same as the Chara's quarters, which would have been inconspicuous but for the guards. 

I passed lords as I walked, some of them nodding to me in greeting, others with their gazes on documents that they read as they walked. I met the Chara's court clerk, a young free-man struggling to keep a pile of papers in his arms. He nearly lost them all when he saw me and touched his heart and forehead with his fingers. I returned the gesture; it was one of the few Emorian customs that had come naturally to me, as it was of Koretian origin. Or so I had suggested one day to Lord Dean, High Lord of the Great Council of Emor, but he had maintained that the gesture derived from the Emorians' custom of placing their weapon-blades to their foreheads when they swore their oath of loyalty to the Chara. Whether in Emor or Koretia, the free-man's greeting was meant to be exchanged, not between a master and his servant, but between equals. 

I passed by more open doors leading to rooms – the quarters of the Chara's historian, the slave-quarters – and then I came to the quarters that belonged to the senior council lords. These rooms were generally silent at this time of the day, since the lords were busy elsewhere in the palace, working out the day-to-day details of running Emor, for which they were responsible. The quarters were silent now – all except one. 

The girl's cry was so piercing that, without thinking, I pushed my way through the door. The door opened only to a passageway that led to further rooms, so I did not expect to see anyone. But I found myself facing Lord Carle, who was in the midst of disciplining his Koretian slave-girl. 

The girl had fallen to her knees weeping. I could see the red mark on her cheek where Lord Carle had hit her. He was bent over her as I entered, and as he looked at me, I saw a fire spark in his eyes. 

He barely managed to contain the fire in his voice. "What do you want?" he asked abruptly. 

Having no good reason to be in his quarters, I said, "I apologize for disturbing you, Lord Carle. I was searching for the Chara; I thought he might be with you." 

He stiffened up and assessed me for a moment, leaving the girl sobbing at his feet. Finally he said, "You ought to know where your master is. Why are you absent from him?" 

Something about the crouching girl, whose presence the council lord was ignoring, caused me to say coolly, "Because, Lord Carle, I am not the Chara's servant and so am not required to know his every movement." 

Lord Carle stepped forward. As he did so, the girl stopped crying and began looking between her master and myself, as though she expected to witness a duel. Lord Carle stopped a few feet from me. Keeping his eyes fixed on mine, he said with malevolent softness, "If you are a loyal Emorian, Andrew, then you are his servant, as I am his servant and all Emorians are. If you do not believe this, then disobey the Chara's commands again and see what follows." 

I made no reply, and found a moment later that my gaze had drifted away from Lord Carle's eyes. He turned away then, as though in disgust that he had wasted such a deep dagger-thrust on so unworthy an opponent. I took the opportunity to slip back to the corridor. 

I stood there for a moment with my eyelids closed and my head tilted back, as though I had just emerged from red-hot fire. Then I walked the remaining distance to the Map Room. 

This was at the direct end of the corridor. Its silver doors reached to the ceiling; standing on each side were two guards with their spears crossed in front of the doorway, in order to indicate that the Chara might not be disturbed on penalty of the high doom. As I came forward, they uncrossed the spears. Being less strictly trained than the Chara's personal guards, they nodded me a greeting as I opened the doors and walked through. 

The Map Room was not as large as the Court of Judgment, but it had a ceiling just as high, reaching up, it seemed, halfway to the clouds. The Chara used the scantily furnished room as a place to study military information and as a chamber in which to receive guests with formality but without full ceremony. On rare occasions, it was also used as a small Court of Judgment for cases that he tried in private. Like all Emorian rooms, it was dimly lit; the main illumination came from the hearth centered on the far wall. The hearth was now ablaze with fire in order to stave off the coolness of the Emorian summer morning. 

The Chara was standing a few spear-lengths from me, looking out one of the southern windows. He was dressed formally with his silver tunic and his Sword of Vengeance; his cloak was tossed onto a chair nearby. He was only twenty-six, but his face had the look of an older man: severe responsibility had gouged deep rivers of age into his skin. As the door closed behind me, the Chara turned his head and said, "I was just wishing that I could wander over the black border mountains right now. It seems a shame to stay inside on a warm day like this." I made no reply, and he added, "I see that you brought the map. I couldn't remember this morning where I had put it." 

"So I surmised from the state of your sitting chamber, Chara," I said, coming forward and placing the map in his hand. "You ought to have woken me." 

He turned and put the scroll down on the table nearby, which was already cluttered with a dozen maps. Without looking up, he said, "I thought that you might need the extra rest." 

There was a pause as he unrolled the map and began examining it. I said, "I did not mean to disturb you, Chara. Perhaps I ought to sleep in other quarters." 

"Don't be foolish." He leaned over, traced a line on the map with his finger, then sighed and allowed the map to roll up once more as his gaze drifted back to the view at the window. 

I followed his gaze toward the tiny slice of scenery. I could see a portion of the capital city surrounding the palace, a sliver of the river-threaded fields beyond, and a patch of Emorian sky – which, for a change, was blue and cloudless. Towering above them all were the black border mountains that separate Emor and Koretia. 

The Chara said, "I seem not to be able to keep my mind off the mountains. Perhaps I have acquired some of your Koretian blood." 

I said rigidly, "Chara, I am Emorian." 

A smile crept onto his face then, erasing the lines of worry and making him appear even younger than he was. "That fact," he said, "had not escaped my notice. I was joking. Now stop being so stiff and formal and come sit with me." 

He waved his hand toward two chairs sitting under a small patch of sunlight falling through one of the northern windows. I felt the seldom-used muscles of my mouth turn up, and I bowed in obedience, before seating myself where he had indicated. 

He sat down beside me and pushed over a bowl that lay on the table between the two chairs. I fished out a couple of dried berries and, without looking to see what type they were, placed them in my mouth. 

It took only two chews before I jerked my head around toward the Chara. "Peter! Where in the name of the dead Charas did you get these?" 

The Chara Peter chuckled. "I wondered whether you would recognize them. The Koretian governor sent them to me. He said that Koretian food was not to most Emorians' taste – I take that to mean that he thinks it inedible. He added, though, that he knew of my interest in curious native customs, and he thought I might like to try these wild-berries. I did, and I think they're inedible, and I would hand my dominions over to you if you would do me the favor of finishing them off." 

"That won't be a hard duty for me to undertake," I said. "As for Lord Alan, it sounds as though he has a gift for flattery." 

"Yes, he reveals that most clearly in his letter." Peter reached over and picked up a sheaf of papers that was sitting next to the fruit bowl. "'To the Great Chara, Judge of the People, Commander of the . . .' Well, he goes on with the usual half dozen, and even managed to scrape up a couple of titles that I had thought only my clerk knew. 'Your servant Alan' – note the humility of leaving off his title – 'was most interested by your recent kind letter and does assure the Chara that my greatest wish is to answer any questions you might have on the Koretian people, and that the high doom itself would not prevent me from giving you the full story of all that is happening in this land. As you know, when I was appointed governor fifteen years ago by your father, the Chara Nicholas, I had little experience in high matters, and I continue to feel myself unworthy of such a task . . .' He continues on like this for six pages, and by the end of them he has still failed to answer any of my questions. He signs the letter with all his titles, though he tactfully keeps them one short of the number he ascribed to me. So, since Lord Alan gives me no information, since nearly every spy I send to Koretia is either bribed by the governor or kept from gaining information, and since I am on this side of the black border mountains, I can find nothing that will help me to bring peace to that land." 

Outside the windows, the palace trumpeters sounded the hour. I could hear the soft shuffle of soldiers' feet as the guard was changed in front of the Map Room door. I said, "Peter, if you wish me to tell you what I know of Koretia, you've only to ask." 

He gave me a sober-eyed smile. "I didn't wish to burden you in that way, but I fear that I must do so. The latest report from my spy – the only one who has managed to obtain useful information – is alarming. Could you help me sort out what these maps mean?" 

I followed him over to the map-strewn table, where he unrolled again the map that I had brought him. "My father had this made during the Border Wars, a few months before the Koretian capital was captured," he said. "Can you tell me what everything is on it?" 

I looked down at the black lines with occasional red splotches superimposed. "I imagine that you know as much about Koretia as I do. I was only eight years old when I left, and I hadn't even visited the towns and villages until that time." 

"Tell me what you know, even if I already know it. I'd like to learn how matters appear from a Koretian's point of view." Before I could speak, he added, "You will not deny, I hope, that you once _were_ Koretian." 

I smiled and said, "No." Touching the yellowing paper with my finger, I said, "This is the capital city, built at the northern foot of the mountain that marks the southernmost border with Daxis. The mountain itself is uninhabited except for a priests' house, though it has a few ruins – and a cave." 

I sensed rather than saw him smile. "I'm not likely to forget the cave. Where is the priests' house?" 

"Here, about a mile up from the foot of the hill, and below the old house of worship, which the Koretians call the gods' house. Nobody goes to the gods' house, but city dwellers sometimes visit the priests' house in order to see the rites. I doubt that I can tell you anything important about the city itself; it is all plainly labelled here on the map." 

"Where did you live?" asked Peter. 

I pointed. "Close to the market and not far from the old Koretian Council Hall, though I suppose the hall must have been destroyed by fire, as so much was." 

Peter leaned over and placed his elbows on the table, resting his chin on his folded knuckles. "No, in fact it was the only large building to survive. The governor incorporated it into his palace. I think he liked the idea of living where royalty used to live – am I right in remembering that the Koretian King made the hall his home?" 

"I told you that you know as much about Koretia as I do." 

"I don't know enough about its governor—" 

"Neither do I," I cut in. "He was appointed the summer that I left Koretia." 

"I know. But many Koretians were sent to my palace during those first few years after the wars. Did you ever hear them talking about Lord Alan?" 

"Well," I said, "I wasn't much interested during those years in listening to talk about Emor's rule in Koretia. All that I remember hearing was that the governor was a tyrant and stole from his people – just like the Chara, the Koretians said." 

Peter laughed. I pointed to the red patches and asked, "What are those?" 

"Those," said Peter, leaning back, "are Emorian soldiers. The bigger the red area, the more units we had in that region. My father had about forty-two garrisons in the Koretian territory he cared for when this map was made. At the time of my enthronement, the number had gone down to eighteen. Here is a map I ordered drawn up recently." He pushed aside the old map in order to show the one under it. "What do you notice?" 

I stared down at the red and white paper before me. "More garrisons." 

"Three times more soldiers than there were at the time I became Chara. Anything else?" 

"I don't observe much that would be helpful to you. I see that the city has been rebuilt, and that a good portion of it is taken up by the governor's palace." 

"Yes, and that's a matter of concern to me – how Lord Alan could afford to build a palace that size. Nor am I sure how he could afford to bribe as many of my spies as I believe have been bribed. So the governor's manner of living bothers me. The extra soldiers I've had to send may be a result of the unrest he has caused." 

"If that is so," I replied, "couldn't you remove him from office?" 

Peter replied only with a smile. 

I said, "I forgot. You're bound by the law." 

"Like a prisoner," Peter said cheerfully. "It's up to the council to take action, and I couldn't bring such a proposal to them unless I had solid proof of the governor's misconduct." 

"You could charge Lord Alan with a crime." I said this quietly, standing, as usual, with the stiff motionlessness of a soldier on sentry duty. 

Peter turned toward the table to place weights on the restless edges of the map. "I could. That is to say, the court summoners could charge him with a crime, and only if I provided _them_ with more convincing proof than I presently possess. Besides, it's more complicated than you'd think. This problem is one of the reasons why my father locked me in my chamber for ten years and fed me law book after law book. The law is a demanding master to serve, and I sometimes feel like its much-abused slave after one of my battles with the council." 

"I probably won't understand a word of what you say," I told him, "but explain it to me anyway, if you will." 

"Actually, it's based on the one law phrase you understand well: the council takes care of its own. The council judges those under its care, and the High Lord has the final say on whether a lord is removed from office, in the same way that the High Lord and I jointly decide whether to appoint a man to be council lord." 

"And Lord Dean wouldn't remove the governor from office," I said with sudden understanding. 

"Remove Lord Alan from office after spending all these years cultivating a fine connection with the governor? I think that Lord Dean is as unlikely to do that as he is to smile upon anyone with true friendship." 

"But if the governor were found guilty of his crime—" 

"The law is odd that way. A lord's appointment is for life, and it makes no difference if he is enslaved or imprisoned at the time. In such cases, the High Lord simply appoints someone to discharge the lord's duties, a task that would make Lord Dean _very_ happy – having sole charge over deciding who ran one of my dominions. No, the only thing that will free me of Lord Alan is his death, either his natural death or his death by the sword." 

I said in the cool, hard voice for which I was noted, "I don't suppose that the council judge would sentence Lord Alan to death if he knew that it would take power away from the council." 

Peter stared intently at the map, his finger resting upon the mark signifying the governor's palace. "It's a moot issue at present, because Lord Alan's death would solve only half my problems. The governor isn't completely to blame for what is happening in Koretia. Someone else is causing unrest in the dominion." 

The name came to my lips, but I said nothing. Peter's finger travelled from the governor's palace to the small mark showing the priests' house. "If there's one thing that the governor has not tried to hide from me, it's his information on the Koretian religion, for the simple reason that he knows next to nothing on the topic. I understand that the Jackal is connected in some way to the priests. What is this man's connection with them?" 

"To start with," I said, "the Jackal is not a man but a god." 

Peter looked at me, and I smoothly switched my gaze over to the map. I had a moment, in the pause that followed, to wonder how much of what the Chara was asking me about he already knew. It was unlikely that, after ten years as Master of the Koretian Land, Peter had never thought to enquire as to the nature of the Jackal. Already he had raised several topics that I had overheard him expound upon to his council lords, with great erudition. 

A cynic might have thought he was testing my loyalty by gauging the truthfulness of my answers. Having witnessed Peter practice this device with his other subjects, I had once asked him its purpose. He had replied with pure simplicity, "When I hear others speak on a topic I think I know about, I learn of my ignorance." 

Now he said, "Do you believe that?" 

"I'm telling you what the Koretian people believe. The Jackal is one of the seven gods and goddesses whom they have worshipped over the centuries. He is the thief god who prowls in the night, and the hunting god who snatches his spoils. Thirty-five years ago, a man appeared who claimed to be the human form of the Jackal God—" 

"Wait. Thirty-five years ago? Before the Emorians arrived?" 

"He appeared at the start of Koretia's civil war, the one that eventually led Koretia to attack Emor and start the Border Wars. The man who called himself the Jackal claimed that he had come to destroy the enemies of the people and bring peace to the land." 

"Which enemies, if the Emorians hadn't yet arrived?" 

"The Jackal didn't say. All I can say is that he made the King and his council nervous enough that they were forever trying to capture him in order to question him. He slipped out of their traps time and time again." 

Peter curled his fist under his beardless chin. Unlike his father, who had followed the military fashion for beards, Peter preferred the more common Emorian custom of being clean-shaven. "If the Jackal is a god," he said, "I suppose that he knew that the Emorians would be arriving. Perhaps he arranged Koretia's attack on the borderland villages to ensure that the Emorians would come. Whatever his intentions might have been toward the late King, now Emor is his enemy?" 

"It would appear so. Since the time your father first crossed the border with his army, the Jackal's thieves – the Koretians who secretly serve him – haven't made life easy for the Emorians or their sympathizers." 

"The thieves murder them," Peter said bluntly. 

"I don't know how it is these days, but murders were rare in my childhood, though of course they were the acts that attracted the most attention. More often the Jackal's followers practiced thievery: small thefts, tricks that left the victims frustrated, and quite a few practical jokes. Once a garrison captain locked a town council out of its meeting hall and afterwards found himself locked out of his own house for three days. The thieves are quiet as cats, are rarely caught, and almost never talk when they are caught. The Jackal himself has never been caught, nor is his human identity known to any but his closest companions." 

Peter walked over to the window and stared out at the mountains again. "Are there any stories about what he is like?" 

"Nobody seems to be sure of his age – I suppose that by this time he must be in his older years. As to his appearance, it is said that he has the body of a man and the face of a jackal." 

Peter turned to look at me. I lifted my eyes from the map and stared back at him silently. He said, "A mask?" 

I nodded. "Many centuries ago, the priests wore masks when they made sacrifices to the gods, so as to show in which god's name they were killing the victim. The masks, though no longer worn, are still used as an aid to worship. The man called the Jackal is said to wear such a god-mask." 

"God-masks, slave-masks – Koretia seems to be a land full of masks. . . . But I'm less interested in the Jackal's appearance than in what sort of man he is." 

"If I ever speak with him, I'll be able to tell you. But I can at least tell you what the god is like." I paused, my eyes searching the neck-flap of his tunic. "You're not wearing your emblem brooch." 

"No, I'm dressed for the court today." 

"I realize that. What I meant was, I could have used your royal emblem to explain about the Jackal." 

"Use this, then." Peter strode forward and pulled from his finger the Chara's seal-ring, used to seal official documents and letters, such as the one Peter had left me. Except for certain high-ranked court officials, anyone who touched the ring could be placed under the high doom. 

I took the Chara's ring from his hand and turned it to show the emblem of the Charas: a balance holding in one scale a blade and in the other scale a bird wounded in the heart. 

"This is one of many things which have convinced me that Emor and Koretia were once connected in some way," I said. "Here is the Chara's emblem: the Balance of Judgment holding the Sword of Vengeance and the Heart of Mercy. And those are the three attributes of the Jackal as well: the God of Judgment, the God of Vengeance, and the God of Mercy. The Jackal God hides in the shadows during his night-prowls, judging the Koretian people. To his enemies he brings vengeance, and to his loyal servants he brings the mercy of peace. There are even stories of the god allowing himself to be wounded and to suffer for those who serve him. That is why he is so loved by the Koretian people." 

Peter took back the ring, slid it onto his finger, and asked quietly, "Was he loved by you when you were a child? Did you wish to become a thief for the Jackal?" 

I looked down again at the map before answering. "The blood vow I once told you of was made to the Jackal." 

The guards, who had been shuffling in their places outside the Map Room, fell silent at this moment, and the loudest sound I could hear was the crackle of the fire behind me. Peter said, "Then I will have to hope that, when I visit Koretia, the Jackal doesn't place me under his high doom for helping you to break your vow." 

I touched the map very lightly before I looked up to where Peter stood, watching me. "You are going to Koretia?" I said in a dispassionate voice. 

"I think that's the only action I can take to prevent war from breaking out again." He waited, and then said, "What is on your mind?" 

"I was thinking that summer isn't the best time to visit Koretia." 

Peter smiled. "You're supposed to say, 'The Chara never leaves his palace.' That's what the council lords will say when I tell them of my decision." 

"You haven't told them yet?" 

"I didn't decide to go before this conversation. I expect that the council and I will have a lengthy quarrel on the topic, but the law allows me to go, and my duty as Chara tells me to go. Besides, I'd like to see Koretia. I was only there for that one brief visit." 

"Because your father wouldn't risk putting you in danger's way again. How will the Chara avoid becoming the Jackal's next victim?" 

"The Chara hopes," said Peter with a smile, "that his subject Andrew will not be leading him into any more ambushes. But in any case, I won't be travelling as the Chara. It appears that the Jackal doesn't murder Emorian lords at random, so I should be safe if I don't call attention to myself, but instead journey to the governor's palace in the company of one or two other lords." He paused, searching my face. "I may take a few lesser free-men along as well." 

I did not move my gaze from his, but my expression remained masked. "Are you asking me to come with you, Peter?" 

His voice, when he replied, was gentle. "I wish that it were Peter who was asking. I would like to say that the only reason I am asking you is because I, Peter, would like my friend to be able to visit his childhood home. But the fact is that the Chara is requesting his servant to accompany him so that, with your special background, you can find me information that I may wish to use against the Koretian rebels and their Jackal. I need you to be a spy in your own land." 

I still did not move, but now that the words were said, I felt my heart ease somewhat. "Thank you for putting that so clearly, Chara," I said softly, "but I have only one land, which is Emor, and only one master, which is you. When I gave my oath of loyalty to the Chara, I did not say that I would serve you only on condition that you not give me any hard tasks to do. If you need my help, then I will gladly come with you to Koretia." 

He bowed his head to me, as though he were the servant and I the master. "Thank you. I would miss you if I had to make this long trip to Koretia alone. Besides" – he gave a crooked smile – "I'm depending on you to tell me which Koretian foods are inedible to Emorians." 

I was saved from having to reply by the call of the trumpets outside, sounding three long notes. "May the high doom fall upon me," said the Chara. "I am due in the court now. Could you hand me my cloak?" 

I brought it over to him; he was placing the Pendant of Judgment around his neck. I shook my head as he tried to take the cloak from me, and instead went round his back to place it on him myself. 

"You must stop acting as though you were still my free-servant," he scolded me mildly. "You have your own duties as a palace guest." 

"Old customs are hard to abandon," I said. 

o—o—o

The Chara's palace was nearly as big as the city I had grown up in, and I doubt that even Peter, who had spent all his life there, had visited every part of it. In theory, the great building was divided into three areas – the court, the army, and the council – but in practice, all of the important rooms were clustered in the vicinity of the Court of Judgment. 

I passed the doorway to the court after leaving the Map Room and caught a glimpse of the Chara sitting on his throne. I did not linger. A year had passed since I had last visited the court, and I had no desire ever to see the Chara in judgment again. 

Instead, I continued on to the north end of the palace, where two great copper doors stood open. They led to the vast chamber belonging to the council lords, who were given the task by law of running the daily affairs of Emor and its imperial dominions. The chamber was surrounded on three sides by the other rooms of the council quarters, and at the entrance to the chamber were side doors leading to the corridors adjoining these rooms. Through them, I could glimpse a bustle of activity. 

The Council Chamber's doors – as high and wide as those of the Map Room – were open, though they showed only a small portion of the chamber, since the council quarters, like the Map Room, jutted out toward the east, beyond the facade of the rest of the east wing of the palace. The entrance to the chamber was empty except for the council guards and the council porter. The latter was on a ladder at the entrance, attempting to raise the royal emblem of the Chara, which was placed above the chamber doorway on days when the council met in closed session. I paused to lend him my aid until we had together succeeded in placing the seal directly in the path of sunlight from the high corridor windows. The painted colors shone brightly from the grey stone background: the silver sword, the golden balance, and the red heart's blood on the black bird. 

"You're stronger than I would have thought," said the porter. Then, taking my silence for the reply that it was, he added hastily, "I mean . . . having lived all your life in the palace. . . . It's not as though you were trained for heavy work." 

"I had a few years of normal life before I came here," I replied. "Do you need help with passing word to the council officials?" 

Still standing above me on the ladder, the porter shook his head mutely, and I continued on my journey without looking back at him. Turning right once I passed through the entrance, I walked through the empty Council Chamber, as ancient as the Court of Judgment, and made my way into a chamber at the back. 

The council library was a small room, but was one of the few in the palace that was filled with many windows. The sunlight fell unimpeded onto the short row of double-sided desks, each mounted in the middle with a small bookcase. I went from desk to desk until I found the volume I was looking for. Grasping its leather binding, which had grown warm under the sun's rays, I pulled the book gently from the shelf, brushing off the desk, as I did so, bits of paper that flaked off the book and fluttered down. As I seated myself, I pushed to one side the iron chain that bound the book to the desk, and then opened the collection of the Chara Nicholas's proclamations during the final years of the Border Wars. 

It took me some time to find the document I was seeking.   


> _I, Nicholas, the Great Chara of Emor and Its Dominions .  
. . do on this day declare that Alan son of Gershom, formerly Head Councilman  
of the Town of Busedge, shall become a non-voting member of the Great Council  
of Emor, and shall also be made Lord of the Koretian Land, acting as its  
governor until his death. I do declare also that Lord Alan shall be servant  
only to the Great Council, which in turn is servant only to the Law, except  
as it shall turn any of its members over to the Chara for judgment. And  
so that it shall be understood by Lord Alan and the people of this land,  
I make clear in this declaration that his duties are as_ _follows:_  
to obey the commands of the Chara, to care for the Koretian people with  
discipline and mercy . . .

  
A shadow fell over the book, and a voice behind me said, "Reading about your homeland?" 

I shut the book, rose, and gave a short bow. "High Lord." 

"Good day to you, Andrew," Lord Dean replied, as easily as though he were addressing one of his council lords. "I didn't mean to interrupt you at your studies." 

"It is of no importance," I said. "The Chara asked me to gather information on the dominions' governors." 

"And especially on the Koretian governor? That is hardly surprising. No one in the palace talks of anything but Koretia these days. Tell me, have you never thought of returning to your native land?" 

I scrutinized him, trying to assess from his expression whether he had spoken to the Chara. "It has not occurred to me for many years." 

"Not now, of course, not with Koretia on the verge of war. But once we have brought peace again to that land, you might do well to consider such an action. I understand that the Chara is in desperate need of an aide to stay in the governor's palace and ensure that Lord Alan is not – well, handing down his own judgment of what the Chara's commands mean. I doubt that the Chara has raised the topic with you himself, but I'm sure that you've occurred to him as someone who could provide a loyal Emorian presence in a troubled land. You would be doing the Chara a great service if you were to propose to him such an arrangement." 

"I am the Chara's servant. He has only to ask." 

"But you are his subject, not his free-servant; you could propose the matter yourself. Andrew, my legs are not as young as they used to be. Shall we make ourselves more comfortable?" 

I followed Lord Dean over to the chairs by the north window, and then waited until he had seated himself before I followed suit. We were opposite the library tapestry, which hung on the wall in aged and faded splendor. It was so old that not even Peter knew its origin, and it was obviously symbolic in some way, but no one had ever been able to identify the symbols: a flower rising out of a flame, a man struggling to tame a wild stallion, a silver moon that was curved into a crescent blade, two golden suns staring down at the land like eyes . . . 

Lord Dean leaned back in his chair. "Ah, that is better. I envy you your youth, Andrew, not only because your body is still fresh and full of vigor but also because you have so much time ahead of you. You've already accomplished much in your life. Tell me, how long have you been with the Chara?" 

I said, with precision, "I was assigned to the Chara's household almost twelve years ago. I became his free-servant ten years ago . . ." I hesitated. 

"And for the past year you have held no other title than friend of the Chara," concluded Lord Dean. "An honorable position, and one that I like to think I share with you. It is as the Chara's friend that I wish to speak to you, Andrew. It is on a matter that I cannot approach the Chara about officially except insofar as I have already done so. I know that you are probably the only person in this palace who cares as much about the Chara's best interests as I do. So I would like your help, free-man to free-man, in opening the Chara's eyes to a danger that faces Emor." 

"If I can help the Chara," I said, carefully rephrasing Lord Dean's request, "I certainly will try to do so. What is the nature of this danger?" 

Lord Dean smiled, his long fingers idly twirling the short locks of his white hair. "Do you remember the visit of the Arpeshian princess many years ago? She is, of course, a princess only in name, but the Arpeshians hold her in great respect, and it is through the influence of her late mother that the Chara Nicholas was able to subdue a threatened rebellion in Arpesh fourteen years ago. The princess would have been about five years old at that time." 

"I was not yet part of the Chara's household at that time, Lord Dean." 

"No, that is right, and I suppose that you did not venture much from your quarters. Well, when the princess visited, the Chara Peter was a boy of twelve, still a few years from manhood, yet he spent a surprisingly large amount of his time entertaining his palace guest. I believe, too, that he saw Lady Delia again several years later, when he visited Arpesh on the eve of his enthronement. And so the council suggested to the Chara some weeks ago that he invite the princess to stay at the palace." 

"Is there trouble in Arpesh? I had not heard." My mind was less on what the High Lord was saying than on unravelling the puzzle of the tapestry. What was the meaning of the young woman leading a goat into a building? Or of the quill pen that appeared to be writing in blood? Or, most mysterious of all, the upper right-hand corner of the tapestry, which was carefully woven black, with no symbols whatever? 

"There is as yet no trouble in Arpesh," said Lord Dean, "and there would be no trouble in the future if the Chara chose to unite himself with the last descendent of the Arpeshian royal line." 

There was a silence of less than a heartbeat before I replied, my eyes still fixed on the tapestry, "Has the princess shown any interest in marrying the Chara?" 

"The princess is too well trained to voice her thoughts publicly, but the council has learned from various sources that she would be agreeable to such a union, both for the good of her land and also from a personal point of view. She has not forgotten the Chara's kindness to her on her last visit." 

"And the Chara?" 

"Agreed to invite the princess here. She is scheduled to arrive here in three months' time." 

I tore my gaze away from the tapestry and looked over at Lord Dean. I could not read his face, but neither, I was sure, could he read mine. I said coolly, "Then I fail to see where the problem lies, Lord Dean. If the Chara has taken the trouble to invite the princess here, I imagine that he will agree to the marriage. I do not see how I can help him." 

"The Chara—" Lord Dean's voice rose in an unaccustomed manner before he mastered himself and said in his usual restrained tone, "I met the Chara in the corridor earlier today. He asked me to send a message to Arpesh immediately, cancelling the princess's visit. He said that he would have to meet with the princess at some other time." 

"Well," I said, treading carefully around the edges of my conversation with Peter, "it may be that he is worried about the crisis in Koretia and feels that he needs to devote his time to that matter. After he has done that, no doubt he will be able to meet with the princess." 

"I am sure that the Chara will have some good explanation for cancelling the visit," Lord Dean said dryly. "I doubt, however, that he will ever meet with the princess. This is the third marital alliance that the council has proposed to him, the third time that he has agreed to meet with the noblewoman in question, and the third time that he has cancelled the visit at the last minute. It is clear that, in the Chara's mind, there is no good time for him to arrange a marriage." 

Outside the windows, the silver trumpets of the Chara announced the end of the court's day. Lord Dean took no notice. He was at most times the least perturbed lord on a council of composed lords, but now he was drumming his fingers on the arm of his chair. 

Keeping my voice neutral, I said, "I suppose that the Chara must believe there is plenty of time for marriage in the future, since he is still young." 

"He is not too young to die," said Lord Dean bluntly. "His father was hardly the first Chara to die at a relatively young age from sheer overwork – it is a curse that seems to come with the title. And leaving that possibility aside, war may occur in the dominions. Even with the Chara supervising the fighting from a safe distance, there is always the danger of assassins. If the Chara should lead a force into Koretia some months from now and be cut down, you know what will happen to Emor." 

I was silent before saying, "It is not clear who the Chara's heir is, as I understand it." 

"He has no heir, according to the law; the council found the Chara's nearest kinsman to be unsuitable for the throne. The Chara has no other relatives close enough within the royal line to qualify for inheritance. So if the Chara dies, this land will erupt into a war as terrible as those in Koretia, a war to determine who should take the Chara's place." 

"If a peaceful solution should be found . . ." 

The High Lord shook his head. "I doubt that even a successor selected by peaceful means would prove an adequate substitute. The duties of the Chara are handed down father to son; it is a role that the Chara Peter spent his life preparing for, and it is not a role that even I could walk into unprepared. With no Chara, there would be no High Judge, and with no high judgment, Emor would be destroyed." 

Lord Dean's words contained an unusual passion, but my own voice, when it spoke, was stripped of all emotion. "I am sure that the Chara has thought of all that you have said. If he has decided that his current duties prevent him from producing an immediate heir, it is not my place to dispute the matter with him." 

"Now, Andrew," said Lord Dean mildly, "that is a disingenuous statement. You know quite well that, as the Chara's friend, you have disputed with him on far more controversial topics. Some of these topics you have raised with him on my suggestion – though only, I know, when my opinion on the subjects happened to coincide with your own. So let us have less talk of how you are the Chara's humble servant and more talk about what you and I can do to aid him in this difficult matter." 

His eyes shifted to mine suddenly, in the manner of a soldier who is trying to judge how to slice his blade through his enemy's guard. I did not move, but I let my eyes drift once more toward the tapestry. "I am not sure how it is that I can help, Lord Dean. Friend or not, I surely do not have the right to lead the Chara to his marriage-bed. He knows that I will help him in any way I can when the time comes." 

"Ah, but will you?" The tone of Lord Dean's question was like cold metal on my skin, but a moment later he said amiably, "I know, of course, that you are always ready with help – you may be the most loyal subject the Chara has in this land. It is natural that, whenever the Chara is in need of advice or companionship, he should turn to you. But perhaps that is a danger in itself. It may be that the Chara finds it difficult to consult with one companion about a union with another companion." 

I said nothing, but let my eyes drift blindly over the colors of the tapestry: red and gold, silver and black, green and blue and brown. Lord Dean's voice grew even more gentle as he said, "I remember how, when I was young, it was hard to watch my friends part and take wives. It was like a betrayal of our friendships. I think that the only thing that made it bearable was knowing that some day I too would find a mate. But of course I'm sure that, like any other man, you understand the desire to raise a family." 

My roving eye settled for a moment on the man roping the stallion. "Yes." 

"Well, then." Having found his way past my guard and delivered his blow, Lord Dean settled back into a more comfortable position. His voice grew matter-of-fact again. "I'm therefore sure you appreciate the conflict of loyalties that the Chara must be feeling at this moment. That is why I suggested earlier that you might want to spend some time apart in Koretia: in order to give the Chara a chance to work out on his own what is best for himself and for Emor. So you see, I'm not asking you to mediate on my behalf as I have in the past, though I'm sure that you will discuss this matter with the Chara. Instead – I speak without formality here, since we share the Chara's friendship – Peter may have less need this time of your advice than of your actions. I think that you ought to put much thought to this." 

I rose slowly, my limbs feeling as heavy as though Lord Dean had transferred his aging body to mine. I bowed to the High Lord and said, "I appreciate your bringing this matter to my attention. I assure you that I will indeed give thought to the matter." 

Lord Dean rose also, and as we walked toward the library door, he smiled at me. "I know that I can count on your loyalty to the Chara to help you in making the right decision. There is no one else in the palace who knows the Chara as well as you do, or has the ability to demonstrate to him more clearly the importance of fathering an heir." 

He left me standing beside a window that, like the window in the Map Room, looked out upon the southern view. Twelve years had passed since I had been in the city surrounding the Chara's palace, and fifteen years since I had been there in daylight, yet still I could find in a moment's glance the market beside the river, with its stalls and tents and the high, windy platform where the slaves were sold.


	4. Land of the Chara | 2

**CHAPTER TWO**

Fifteen years before, I had stood hand-bound on that platform, my back to the black border mountains, and my gaze fixed firmly on the Chara's palace. 

Summer still held sway in Koretia, but the autumn winds had begun to bite at us even before the slave-seller's pack-train passed through the mountains. I was dressed in a bare-backed Emorian slave's tunic, trying not to shiver as the wind scurried up my spine, and trying even harder not to waver my gaze and chance meeting the eyes of a free-man. The slave-seller called me stubborn and senseless, but I had at least learned that lesson in my struggle to survive during the past ten weeks. 

The subdued noises of the Emorian marketplace sounded strange to my ear: the fish-sellers did not shout out their wares, nor did the man running the fruit-cart burst into curses when a small girl tried to make off with an apple. Rather than handle the matter himself, as a Koretian would have done, he summoned the soldiers patrolling the market – though, to my relief, the soldiers seemed more amused than angered by the child's actions. All of the sounds in the market were orderly and exact, like the neat stone walls and tidy fields surrounding the city. 

I could not see the fields from where I stood. Towering over me was the palace of the Chara, its hard, white-marble face appearing cold to me in contrast with the warm glow of Koretia's Council Hall. The hilltop palace was encircled by a double layer of walls, as high as the city wall we had passed beyond that morning. On the towers of the inner palace wall, soldiers drilled in uniform motion. 

"There he is!" 

The voice caught my attention. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see that the slave-seller's assistant was standing nearby, pointing to me. The genial slave-seller who had bought me from the previous seller had given his young assistant the day off after our hard, winding journey. From the looks of it, the assistant was spending his time with his girl. 

"That's the one who tried to kill me," he was telling her now. "Nearly choked me with his bare hands when I was adjusting his hand-bindings." 

"But he's just a boy!" cried the girl. She was dressed in a gown which, except for its heavy material, might have been Koretian, but her hair was a color that seemed to me startling in its lightness. 

"That's what I thought, and it was nearly the death of me. My master said that I should have known better. We bought this slave off of Ogier, who was selling him cheap because Ogier was nearly knocked over the head one night after he bought the boy from a soldier. Ogier said he wasn't the sort of slave that it would be easy to find a buyer for; he was quite honest about it. My master, though, said that he knew a lord who would pay good money for him. I'm not sure it was worth it, myself, what with us having to watch him every moment to make sure he wouldn't escape or try to kill the lot of us." 

"It must take great bravery to work with these Koretian barbarians," said the girl, drawing herself closer to the assistant. 

She was very pretty, and I nearly made the mistake of staring at her with open admiration. Then I heard a sound to the right of me and froze. It was the slave-seller, puffing his way up the platform steps as he led a customer toward me. 

"Here he is, Lord Carle," said the seller, laying his hands on his broad belly as he caught his breath. "I tell you frankly, if it were some lords, I would keep my mouth shut about this slave until they had bought him and found out for themselves what he is like. And to other lords I might feel an obligation to give a friendly warning. But when I saw this boy, I knew that he was just the slave for you." 

"Hmm." The Emorian lord stood slightly to the side. I could just see his moss-green eyes examining me. He had a ruddy face, and his reddish-brown beard was sprinkled with silver. The forehead over his thick eyebrows was knotted with concentration. "He came from their capital, you say?" 

"What is left of the Koretian capital, at any rate. Now that the wars are over, the new governor has been wondering whether the city is worth the bother to rebuild. But you would know more about that than I do." 

Lord Carle said nothing, but circled round me until he reached my other side. I kept my eyes fixed at a point beyond him as he passed. 

"He looks stubborn enough," said Lord Carle finally. "What is his name?" 

The slave-seller appeared confused. "I'm not sure," he said. "I don't know the Koretian tongue myself. Hugh!" He shouted this down to his assistant, who was watching the proceedings with interest. "You know their language. Does he have a name?" 

"Can't say as I've ever wanted to get well enough acquainted with him to find out, sir," the assistant cried out boldly, perhaps for the benefit of the giggling girl. 

The slave-seller frowned at his assistant behind Lord Carle's back, and then asked the nobleman, "Shall I bring my boy up to interpret, Lord Carle?" 

"Don't bother. I was forced by our unremitting troubles with Koretia to learn that primitive tongue myself. —What is your name?" he asked me in flawless Koretian. 

He had moved again so that he was facing me straight on. I had my chin up high enough that I could have seen his face, but I took care to keep my gaze fixed on his chest. I said nothing. 

Lord Carle moved back slightly so that my gaze now fell on his neck. I did not move my body or eyes. He said reflectively, "I hope that you are not trying to sell me a deaf-mute, Robert." 

"The laws forbid that I should, Lord Carle!" the slave-seller protested. "He is simply a mulish rascal – you see how difficult he is to train." He paused, judging his customer, and then added, "Would you like to take on the challenge yourself?" 

"That depends, as always, on the price. The last time I was here, you tried to sell me a half-dead Daxion for twice my inheritance." 

The slave-seller chuckled. "Then I will see whether I can make up for it this time. To be perfectly honest, Lord Carle, if you fail to buy the boy, I don't know what I will do with him. Not many free-men in this city have the courage to try to tame a savage Koretian like this. I will let you have him for forty gold pieces." 

Lord Carle moved again, this time so that his eyes would meet mine. I waited until the moment he blinked, and then shifted my gaze ever so slightly away from him. 

"A fair price for once," said Lord Carle, still looking at me rather than the slave-seller. "Which makes me suspicious. What sort of wounds does he have hidden under that tunic?" 

"Do you think I would try to sell a defective slave to a council lord? I've no wish to be summoned to the city court on the charge of selling bad goods. I assure you, he is entirely whole in body. You may inspect him yourself, if you wish." 

"It is the council's court that you would find yourself in if you committed a crime against a council lord," said Lord Carle, "and I have no intention of sullying my hands on his greasy body." He looked at me with distaste, his gaze travelling down over my chest. Then, in an instant, his eyes rose to catch me looking at him. I froze my gaze once more, and a smile entered his eyes. Then he turned away in apparent disinterest. 

"I have some tamer slaves to sell, if you prefer," said the disappointed slave-seller. 

"Taming is an art," said Lord Carle, his voice smooth with passion. "I bought a stallion off of Warren the horse-seller last year. He told me that it could never be tamed, that I was better off buying another horse that had already been broken. Three months later he visited the palace stables and saw my horse, broken in both body and spirit, and obedient to my slightest command. He has not tried to sell me any tame horses since then." 

The slave-seller beamed with pleasure. Lord Carle turned slowly back to the place in which he had stood before, where his gaze met my gaze, and this time I did not dare try to shift my eyes. He said, "This Koretian dog speaks with a barbaric tongue and comes from a barbaric land, one which has no order or laws. Yet if I were to take him, in three months you would find him thinking and acting like a civilized Emorian. If you know how to discipline a slave, as I do, such transformations are accomplished with ease." 

He stepped forward slightly, his eyebrows drawn down low as he gazed narrowly at me. I lifted my eyes slowly until they met his once more, and I said in Emorian, "I am Koretian. I will never be Emorian, for I have taken a blood vow to kill the Chara and bring freedom to my land." 

Lord Carle began to smile again, a slow, crooked smile. So fascinating was that dark smile that I did not see his fist until it had nearly reached my cheek. 

I dodged then, and the blow landed at a glance so that I was thrown to my knees rather than being flattened to the ground. I felt the platform vibrate with a thump as the slave-seller's assistant jumped up next to me to ensure that I would not cause trouble. Shaking my bowed head in an attempt to stop the buzzing in my ears, I rose, and then lifted my eyes firmly to meet Lord Carle's. 

He was still smiling. Now something more entered his expression, like the look of admiration that a soldier might show for his enemy. He said with soft viciousness, "You have just learned the first lesson of being an Emorian, which is to show respect for your masters. If you wish to remain Koretian inside, I will not interfere with your loyalties. By the Chara's high doom, though, you _will_ learn how to behave like an Emorian, and you will begin by apologizing to me." 

The wind was running up and down my spine now like a dagger blade, and I could feel myself begin to shiver. But I did not speak, and I did not move my eyes. 

After a moment, Lord Carle turned away. "Geld him." 

"Lord Carle?" said the slave-seller uncertainly. 

"Have him delivered to the palace dungeon's torturers; tell them to send him to my quarters after they have gelded him. If he dies under the knife, I will pay for his loss. But if he lives—" He turned his dark gaze my way. "If he lives, he will know who his master is, and that his master is to be obeyed." 

Then he walked away, and I was left staring at the marble prison in front of me. 

o—o—o

"What do you think you're looking at?" 

Philippa, Lord Carle's kitchen slave, was always a beauty to look at: she had honey-colored skin, nut-brown lips, and amber eyelashes. She was not Koretian, as I had once thought; rather, she had Koretian coloring and a soft Koretian accent because she had been born in the borderland, the strip of land stretching on both sides of the black border mountains. Here Koretians married Emorians, producing light-skinned Koretians and dark-skinned Emorians. Philippa was Emorian, but I allowed this fact to be dulled in my mind whenever I caught sight of her. 

She was a beauty even now that she stood frowning at me because she had noticed me watching out of the corner of my eye as she cuddled with Lord Diggory's slave-servant Patrick. We were in the pantry, one of the few rooms in Lord Carle's section of the slave-quarters with a reasonable amount of privacy, and a favorite location for palace slaves who wished to carry on a romance. 

I had not come to the room with the deliberate intention of spying on them. I had been sent there that evening by Lord Carle's free-servant Henry to clean the silver wine cups. 

"Oh, leave him alone, Lippa," said Patrick, pausing from the act of nibbling her ear. "Have mercy on the poor wretch. It's the most fun _he'll_ ever have." 

My face remained expressionless as I wiped the cups mechanically with a cloth, but something about my hunched posture prompted Patrick to add with exasperation, "Oh, come on – I'm just joking." 

"Look at him – _look_ at him," said Philippa, twisting away from Patrick's grasp so that she could rest her fists on her hips. "He's cleaning the bottom of the wine pitcher as well. I know that Henry wouldn't have told him to do that. It's just another way he has found to act as though he's better than any other slave. He's a cold, uppity creature, and he spends half his time trying to make the rest of us look lazy." 

"It won't be hard for him to do that, will it?" said Patrick, smoothing down the front of his tunic. "You're supposed to be washing up right now, aren't you? You'd better go finish cleaning the dishes before Henry suspects that I have been waylaying you from your duties. Henry's a stickler for duty, he is. And I don't want to come by here again and find that Henry has given orders for the guards to keep me out." 

Philippa gave a half-smile, half-frown, coaxing Patrick's mouth down to her own. Once he had begun to take interest, she pushed him away and left the pantry, not looking back. Patrick sighed and turned to me. "Here, I'll help you with that. You'll never get those cups done in time if you take that much trouble over them." 

He sat down beside me on the stone bench next to the table and began wiping the cups with a skill lesser than my own. After a few minutes he said, "Why _do_ you take so much trouble? I'm just curious. I've heard plenty of stories about the encounters you've had with Lord Carle, so love of your master can't be what drives you." 

I wiped the lip of the cup I was holding, held it up to the light, and wiped it again before replying, "I do it for the Jackal." 

"The Jackal? . . . Oh, one of your Koretian gods. What does the Jackal have to do with it?" 

I tossed aside the cloth I was holding and pulled over a clean one, pushing a lock of hair out of my eyes as I did so. I did not have to worry about much hair getting in my face as I worked; Lord Carle had ordered my hair cut soon after I first arrived at his quarters, while I still lay half-conscious on my sickbed. He wanted me to have short hair like any decent Emorian boy. I had not protested. It had seemed to me at that time that all my dreams of coming of age had already been destroyed forever. 

"If I had to do my work for the sake of Lord Carle, I would never do it," I replied. "If I didn't do my work, Lord Carle would kill me. So, since the Jackal is my real master, I pretend that I'm doing the work for him. When you work for a god, you want to work well." 

Patrick stared at me. He was an Emorian, sold on his village court's orders to pay a debt that his father had incurred, and he had spent most of his seventeen years at the palace. I knew little about him, since he worked in Lord Diggory's section of the slave-quarters, farther along in the basement. But I knew that most of the other slaves disliked him. This was reason enough for me to like him, since I shared his problem. 

"You're an odd one, aren't you?" he said. "I'd heard that you had your own way of thinking. You would have to have a different sort of mind to get into so many arguments with Lord Carle. I hate being in the same room as that lord, even on his good days. I thought you were going to say that you did a lot of work in hope that he would free you some day." 

"No," I said, taking a cup from his hand because he had been wiping the same spot for several minutes. "Lord Carle will never free me." 

"You're right about that, and it's not just Lord Carle. I haven't known any palace slaves to be freed the whole time I've been here. I think the Chara is afraid that the dominion-born ones will take secrets back to their lands and cause trouble. And, of course, what the Chara wants, every council lord wants as well. The only way I know for a palace slave to be freed is for him to be transferred to his master's country home – that's the route I'm planning to take. After a few years, they forget that you lived in the palace, and you have just as good a chance as any other slave in this land of getting your manumission paper." 

I pushed the finished wine cups to one side and began wiping the water cups once more. "There are benefits to living in the palace. Some day I may meet the Chara." 

"What will you do if that happens?" replied Patrick with a laugh. "Ask to touch his pendant? Tell him what he should do in Koretia? Or you could just kill him and solve all the problems of your land." 

Again I said nothing, and again something about my posture caused Patrick to exclaim, "You're not serious! Don't be a fool, boy; it has been tried before. It never works – the palace guards always catch the assassin beforehand, and you know what would happen to you then." 

I put down the water cup I was holding, staring at the reflections on it. The mirrored colors were as dull as my surroundings: grey from the windowless walls of the slave-quarters, brown from the tunics that Patrick and I wore, and black from the shelves around us. I said, "To die for the sake of the god would be better than spending the rest of my life serving Lord Carle." 

"Well, if your god has ordered you to do this, tell him that he should reconsider the matter. Do you have any idea what they do to a slave who has been placed under the high doom? He doesn't get his head cut off with a sword as though he were a free-man. If I ever have to die, you may be sure that I'll arrange for it to be in a quick and painless manner." 

I stood up and went over to the shelf, where I pulled out a gold tray. As I began placing the cups and wine and water in careful order on the tray, Patrick lowered his voice. "Listen, you take my advice and don't tell anyone else about this. You can't trust slaves – they'd give word to their master what you were up to, just to get on his good side. You don't want to have to fight off all the palace guards before you even get to meet the Chara. It will be hard enough killing one person." 

"Two people," I said. "The Chara and the Chara To Be. They are both the Chara." 

"Have you been sneaking a look at Lord Carle's law books? For sure, you'd have to kill the Chara's son too, but you'd have even less chance of doing that. The Chara keeps Lord Peter locked away in his room, reading book after book, and only brings him out for the occasional ceremony or court case." 

I did not reply. Patrick opened his mouth to say more, and then rose quickly as Henry opened the door to the room. 

"What are you doing here, Patrick?" he asked, looking hard at the slave-servant. 

"Message for Lord Carle, sir," said Patrick smoothly. "Lord Diggory said that I was to deliver it personally, but I understand that Lord Carle is at dinner." 

Henry held out his hand, and Patrick placed the wax-sealed letter there. The white-haired free-servant glanced at the seal briefly, then handed the message back and said, "You will have to wait until later this evening. _Not_ here, where you will be in the way of the other slaves. There is food left from the dinner in the kitchen – you can wait there." 

Patrick bowed his head in acknowledgment and thanks of the order, waited until Henry had stepped past him, and then winked at me before leaving the room. 

Henry's composed gaze took in me and the cleaned cups. "Well done. Is that the best tunic you have?" 

"It is the only tunic I have, sir." 

"We will have to find you a better one soon. That one will do for now. Lord Carle has dinner guests, and while it was my understanding that the chief guest would bring his own free-servant to help pour the wine, he has not done so. Lord Carle told me to send for you, since he knows you to be circumspect in your manner and not the type to gossip about what you overhear while serving." 

Lord Carle, I was sure, had phrased his command in a far less complimentary manner, but Henry had served the council lord for many years and had a special talent for covering up his master's brusqueness. I asked, "Do I come right away?" 

"Yes, bring the tray now; they have finished their dinner. I will serve the wine, and you will serve the water. You do know which is the water cup, do you not?" 

"The larger one, sir." 

"Mind that you remember." Henry strode out of the room, his head held high with the dignity of a favored free-servant. I followed, cradling the heavy tray in my arms. 

We walked through the slave-quarters, up the stairs, through the basement door that Henry opened with a key (since the slaves were now locked in for the night), past the guards stationed outside, down the short stretch of corridor that was the only part of the palace I had seen during my time there, through the door to Lord Carle's quarters, up a passage to the door of the dining chamber, and stopped there. Henry gave me a sharp look and opened the door. For a moment, his body blocked my view of the chamber. Then he stepped inside, and I looked straight into the eyes of the Chara's son. 

He had changed much in the three-and-a-half years since I had seen him last, tugging at the cloak of his father. He had the lankiness of a boy on the edge of manhood – he was now nearly fifteen, just over a year from his coming of age. The open eagerness I had once seen on his face had altered to a more caged look, as though something had either frightened him or matured him. Only his eyes remained as I remembered them: grey as the Emorian sky on a winter's day, filled with curiosity and depth. 

This much I saw before I dropped my gaze hastily. I followed Henry into the chamber. Its southern window was shuttered for the night, and the serving ledge where Henry placed the gold tray was shadow-dark in the candle-lit room. I took the water pitcher that Henry handed me, and then went over to stand at my place, on the side of the table to the right of Lord Carle. Only then did I see who the council lord's other two guests were: an elderly, hawk-eyed man whose glance darted around the table, and the Chara Nicholas. 

The table was empty but for its candles, its fine embroidered covering, and a bowl of nuts that the elderly lord passed toward Lord Carle as he asked, "How are the negotiations going with the Daxion Ambassador, Nicholas?" 

The Chara Nicholas waited a moment while Henry placed wine cups and water cups on the table. Unlike his son, he had not changed since I saw him last: he still had the carefully controlled movements of a man who is restraining abundant energy. Now he smiled and said in an easy manner, "Dean, whenever you ask me a question like that, I'm certain that you're trying to dig up information to use at your next council meeting." 

"The laws forbid that I should!" exclaimed Lord Dean. "Believe me, I trust that you'll send us the appropriate reports in due time. I merely thought that you looked a bit tired." 

"Some time within the next five years I hope to have a full night's rest," responded the Chara Nicholas. "But yes, the Ambassador has proved difficult to work with. He appears to know little about Emor and seems to think that our courts work in the same manner as those in his land, so that I've found myself having to describe to him the entire law-structure in the space of two days. I wish dearly that King Leofwin would have thought to send an ambassador who could deal with the subtleties of our negotiations rather than bog down in elementary facts." As he paused again to allow Henry to fill his cup with wine, I caught the quick nod of Henry's head toward me and stepped forward to fill Lord Dean's water cup. 

"At least he was not caught stealing candlesticks from the Council Chamber, like that Koretian Ambassador in the time of the Chara Duncan." I saw Lord Carle's eyes rest on me briefly as I came clockwise round the table to fill his cup; then he took no more notice of me. 

"Heart of Mercy," said Lord Dean. "I hope that the man was sentenced severely." 

"That ambassador was not brought to trial at all," said the Chara Nicholas, moving his water cup to the right so that I could fill it without coming near to him. "Carle can undoubtedly tell you the details. I often think that he knows the law books better than I do and that he is studying to be my successor." 

"I would not want to usurp the title from your son, Chara, since I hear that he is making fine progress with his studies," said Lord Carle. His eye was on the Chara's son, who was murmuring his thanks to me as I poured water into his cup. "In fact, I would be interested in discovering what he has learned on the subject of ambassadors." 

"Peter?" The Chara's son, Peter, jerked his head around at his father's word, as though his thoughts had been elsewhere. The Chara Nicholas said, "What can you tell Lord Carle about ambassadors?" 

I moved back from the table and stood where I had before, a body's length behind the Chara's son. Peter looked toward Lord Carle and said, in a manner in no way stilted, but rather as though he was speaking on a subject he knew well, "Ambassadors mediate negotiations between the rulers of two sovereign lands, usually in a time of grave crisis, either in wartime or peacetime." 

"And some examples?" prompted his father. 

"The Daxion Ambassador has been sent here for a peacetime crisis: the floods that are affecting both northern Daxis and the southwestern edge of Emor. A wartime example is that of Koretia. Fifteen years ago, that land sent an Ambassador to Emor in response to the Chara's distress over the fact that Koretia's civil war was beginning to spill over into the Emorian borderland villages—" 

"We all know how the Border Wars began, I hope," said Lord Dean. 

"My son was not born till the following year, Dean; this is ancient history to him," said the Chara Nicholas. "Go on, Peter." 

"Koretia sent the Ambassador under a peace oath requiring that both our lands keep soldiers out of the black border mountains. But while the Ambassador was negotiating, Koretia took advantage of our laxness and destroyed our borderland villages. It appeared that the Ambassador had not been informed of his King's treacherous plans, so he was allowed by the Chara to return home." 

"And was unfortunately executed by his own people for the failed negotiations, so my mercy was to no purpose," said the Chara Nicholas. "What else does the law say about ambassadors, Peter?" 

"During his visits, the Ambassador is made a palace guest and is placed under the care of the Chara." Peter seemed quite composed in voice, but from where I stood, I could see that he was fingering his coarsely-woven tunic with nervous energy. "He negotiates only with the Chara, though the Chara consults with the council in matters that are under its province. If he commits a crime—" 

"Ah!" said Lord Dean, draining his water. "I was wondering when my question would be answered – or indeed if it would be answered at all." 

I stepped forward with the water pitcher and therefore caught the tail end of Peter's gaze as it swept over to Lord Dean. "I am sorry, Lord Dean. It is hard for me to remember the laws out of the order I learned them. If the Ambassador commits a crime, he is normally immune to the law and cannot be summoned to the court – that was the case with the Koretian Ambassador in my great-grandfather's time. If, however, the Ambassador's own people ask Emor to make judgment on the matter, he is tried in the Chara's court. The Ambassador can be tried for any crime except . . ." He hesitated. 

"Disobedience to the Chara," said his father, peering at him over the rim of his wine cup. 

"Disobedience to the Chara," repeated Peter. "This is because his loyalty is to his own ruler, and it cannot be considered a crime under the law for a man in a different land to have different loyalties." He stopped fingering the brown tunic, and as he reached out from under the table to grasp his water, his hand was as steady as ice. 

"Reciting a passage from a book is not the same as being the Chara, of course," said Lord Dean, "but I, for one, am impressed." 

I saw Peter suddenly grip the cup stem tightly, but he merely said in a low voice, "Thank you, Lord Dean." 

"In actual fact," Lord Carle said dryly, "that was five passages from five different law books, so I am even more impressed. You forgot the law, though, concerning ceremonial dress." 

Peter's hand disappeared under the table, and I saw him grip the tunic once more. He said calmly, "I apologize. Ambassadors are expected to dress formally for ceremonies, but according to the customs of their own land. In particular, they are not required to wear a free-man's weapon. —May I ask a question, Chara?" 

"Call me Father; we are amongst friends. What is it that you wish to know?" 

"The Enkloo Ambassador who came here several years ago wore a sword, but swords are not the weapon of warfare in that land. Why did he dress according to Emorian custom, then?" 

"Because he was a good ambassador," said the Chara Nicholas. He put his wine cup to one side, and Henry came forward to fill it. "It's always wise for a mediator to adopt the customs of the land he is visiting, whether he abides by them at home or not. But it isn't wise for Emor to insist that ambassadors do so. Every land has its own customs and even its own laws. That's why I haven't imposed on the dominions more Emorian customs than are necessary. We cannot, for example, make a Koretian into an Emorian." 

I was standing behind the Chara's son, about to refill his water cup. I saw Lord Carle look my way before saying, "I might dispute the Chara for saying that Koretia has its own laws. But it is true that it is exceedingly difficult to make the dominions behave in a civilized fashion. Take these recent problems in Arpesh." 

"Ah," said Lord Dean. "I was hoping that this subject would arise. The council has been most disturbed by its lack of information on the matter, Nicholas. Since the dominion is under the council's care, we'd like to know why we have received no reports on the army divisions you have recently sent to that land." 

The Chara Nicholas held Lord Dean's eyes for a moment before saying in a tranquil voice, "You have received no reports yet, High Lord, because it is my privilege to decide the appropriate time for you to receive such reports. The army is under the Chara's care – as you know. It appears, however, that your clerk doesn't realize this, as he has been sending out orders in contradiction to my own. I would appreciate it . . ." His voice lingered on this phrase for a moment. ". . . if you would inform him of his proper duties in this matter." 

"Certainly, Chara," said Lord Dean, making a hasty retreat from his attack. "I've spoken to the man before, but you know how hard it is to discipline clerks. They seem to feel that they alone issue the commands." 

"Discipline is always a difficult task," said the Chara Nicholas, his voice sounding darker, "but it must be undertaken. And please do not send your clerk to me for his punishment as you did in the last case of this kind. The council should take care of its own." 

Lord Dean reached for the nut bowl but did not take anything from it, as though he were merely trying to occupy his hands. "No, of course not," he said. "I wouldn't wish to bother you more than I already have in the past." He gave a short laugh and added, "Perhaps I should send the clerk to your son the next time he tries on your pendant, in order to give him practice for the future." 

There was a long silence, and I saw out of the corner of my eye that Peter had turned his head toward Lord Dean. The boy's face was bloodless. Then, as though compelled unwillingly by an invisible hand, the Chara's son turned to look at his father. 

The Chara Nicholas had changed expression as well: the lines of his face had solidified, as though his soft flesh had hardened into granite. But if his face was stone, his eyes by contrast were a wounded crack in that stone. He said in a quiet, detached voice, "Did you wear my pendant, Peter?" 

The ball in Peter's throat bobbed. He whispered, "Yes, Father." 

Lord Dean said hastily, "It was many years ago, I believe, when he was playing as a little lad." 

The Chara Nicholas said slowly, "Peter has known since he was a babe in arms that not even the Chara To Be may touch the Pendant of Judgment." 

Peter continued to stare at his father, as though his eyes were trapped. Lord Dean was now taking a great interest in the design of the nut bowl, while Lord Carle stared down at his half-full wine cup as he cradled it in his hand. Even Henry stood rigid, his gaze straight ahead. The Chara's voice, when it came again, was low and heavy. "Lord Peter, let me be clear. If you touch the Pendant of Judgment again while I am alive, I will have you summoned to my court on the charge of disobeying the Chara. Do you understand?" 

"Yes, Chara." Peter's voice was still faint, but there was a firmness to his reply that matched his father's words. 

"Good. Then we will say no more on the matter." The Chara Nicholas's face relaxed and he looked away, pushing his cup to the side. Henry walked forward to fill it. 

"It was thoughtless of me to have raised the subject," said Lord Dean, smiling at Peter. The Chara's son was fiddling with the stem of his water cup and did not look up. 

"'Thoughtless' is perhaps not the word I would have used," said Lord Carle, staring hard at his fellow council lord. "We seem to have strayed successfully from the embarrassing topic of the council clerk." 

"Did you wish to add something on that subject, Carle?" asked the Chara Nicholas. 

"Not on that subject, no, Chara. But on the subject of discipline in general I may say that one of the things that has impressed me over the years about your court cases is the way in which you take the prisoner's entire nature into account when handing down judgment. You have often shown discernment in judging your prisoner, not simply by his crime, which may have been done as a result of youth or lack of experience, but by the whole of his character." 

Peter's eyes rose slowly toward Lord Carle, and for a moment the council lord looked back at him with a discreetly neutral expression. Then Lord Carle broke the eye-link, leaning forward to take the nut bowl. 

"Thank you for those words of wisdom, Carle," said the Chara Nicholas quietly. "Discipline is indeed a subject on which you have much knowledge to impart." 

He glanced over toward his son, but Peter had seemingly already guessed his father's wishes, for he was asking, "May I visit you some time, Lord Carle, and ask you questions on that matter?" 

Lord Carle bowed his head. "I would be honored. Is there any matter in particular that interests you?" 

"Perhaps the subject of the Chara's relationship with his servants would be a good topic," suggested the Chara Nicholas, with a slight quirk to his mouth. 

Peter apparently did not notice his father's expression, for he said somberly to Lord Carle, "My father means that he discovered me playing tag with some of the slave-boys who were cleaning the Court of Judgment." 

Lord Dean quickly put his hand over his mouth. Even Lord Carle seemed to have trouble controlling his expression. But his voice was serious as he said to Peter, "You lead a hard life, I am sure, studying to become Chara. But good customs learned now will make your work easier for you when you grow older." 

"Some things," said the Chara Nicholas, "are never easy to do." 

At his soft words, the others turned to look at him, as though awaiting a proclamation. The Chara Nicholas paused a moment, as though trying to formulate the exact phrases required by law, and then said, "One of the terrible burdens I must pass on to my son is the knowledge that the Chara has no equals. The gap between the Chara and his free-servant and slave-servants is too great to be bridged; even the gap between the Chara and his council lords is too wide most of the time. I have been lucky to have had the friendship of you two, but many other lords have sought my friendship over the years and have failed, not through any lack of effort on my part, but because they could not realize that, when I become a friend, I do not cease to be master. I cannot show favor to any man, nor can I cease to be the Chara to any of my subjects. But few men can face the knowledge that their friend has the ability, and may have the duty, to condemn them in the Court of Judgment. I do not blame the lords who found it hard to live with this fact. Of all the sacrifices I have had to make for the sake of my throne, this one is the hardest." 

The Chara Nicholas had his eyes dipped ever so slightly so that he was looking at the table. His listeners were silent: Henry, at the other side of the room, pouring more wine into his pitcher; Lord Carle, his hand touching his empty water cup; Lord Dean, looking as though he were memorizing the words; and Peter, leaning forward to see better the face of his father. Then Peter reached out and offered the nut bowl to his father. The eyes of the Chara met briefly the eyes of the Chara To Be, and the tension was broken. 

Lord Carle said, "What you say is true not only of the Chara, but of masters in general. Among the higher ranks, of course, friendship may flourish, but I think that it is a mistake for a master to become too intimate with his servants. That sort of situation leads only to ill conduct on the part of the servants." 

"Nobody could accuse you of having poorly trained servants, Carle," said Lord Dean. 

"Thank you, High Lord. I do my best, and I think that the results are satisfying, not only to myself, but also to my free-servant and slaves. Servants do not really wish to be pampered and allowed to do bad work – they thrive on discipline and labor. The results are manifold: cheerful servants, well-run quarters, and the knowledge that my life is as orderly and systematic as the Chara's own—" He stopped suddenly, alerted by the expression of Peter, who was biting his lip in an attempt to contain laughter. 

I stepped back from Lord Carle with the water pitcher in hand. Lord Carle stared at the table for a moment. Then, without looking my way, he beckoned to his free-servant and said quietly, "Henry, you have done an excellent job in serving us tonight; I am grateful. Nevertheless, I do not think that I need any water in my small cup, especially as it was already half-filled with wine." 

"I will get you another cup, Lord Carle," murmured Henry, reaching forward. 

I did not need to see Henry's quick look of instruction to know I must leave. As I neared the door, Lord Carle's voice, very soft, drifted back toward me: "Oh, and I would like to see you in my study chamber later this evening, Andrew." 

I hesitated and looked back. Lord Carle had not bothered to turn his head to address me, but beyond him were the eyes of the Chara's son, watching me with sympathy.


	5. Land of the Chara | 3

**CHAPTER THREE**

"Well?" said Lord Carle. 

He was standing with me in his study chamber, his arms folded and his brows drawn low. The furiously burning fire beside him had turned his face even redder than usual, and I could see sweat on his forehead. 

I kept my gaze carefully pointed at the wall behind him. "I am sorry for the mistake I made this evening, Lord Carle." 

_"Mistake."_ Lord Carle spat out the word as though it were the bitter portion of a fruit. He put a hand out to lean on the table nearby and said in a caustic voice, "If that had been a true apology, I would have considered it a miracle greater than the Emorian victory at Mountain Heights, since you have never once apologized to me for any of your defiances for the past three years. But even the Chara's son, who does not know your Koretian talent for deception, could see that your actions tonight were no mistake. On the contrary, you were quite successful in your goal of shaming me in front of my guests." 

He reached over suddenly and took a dry log from the wood pile, then thrust it into the fire, so that the flames blazed up in fury. Turning back to me, he said in that quiet voice I had grown to fear, "Lord Diggory's slave Patrick came by my quarters after dinner tonight to deliver a message from his master. He stayed to deliver his own message, which was that you were planning to kill the Chara." 

The red-golden flames reached upward, tearing at the air in a futile attempt to escape the chamber. The room was hotter than before, but I felt as though I had just been ducked under ice-cold water. I did not move. 

"I think he hoped that I would pass on a good word to his master about him," Lord Carle continued. "I was obliged to explain to him that I had no good words to say about anyone who would betray a confidence. He was also disappointed to learn that I was fully informed of your ambition, since you had revealed it to me yourself. I must say I was gratified to learn that I have a servant who is so single-minded in his designs. But perhaps it will give you greater incentive to put your thoughts to your service duties if I tell you that you will not be in any condition to try your assassination attempt if you do not learn to behave. As you know, in most cases I do not find that it is necessary to resort to physical discipline, but you have sorely tried my patience." 

He turned then, as though he had finished speaking to me, and strode over to the leather-bound books that lined the whole of one wall. He stared at them for a moment, as though reaching into them for inspiration. When he turned and spoke to me again, it was in a voice so soft that I could not tell whether he was being very gentle or very vicious. 

"Henry tells me that you are the hardest-working and most meticulous slave he has ever supervised in his years with me," said Lord Carle. "This matches my own impression of your work. I also know that you are discreet and keep your observations to yourself, a quality that is hard to find in slaves. For this reason, I have discussed with Henry the possibility of sending you to work in my country home, which is lightly manned, as I have no family and rarely visit the house. Since few servants work there, you would be given greater independence in carrying out your duties." 

He paused. He was just out of reach of my gaze, and so my eyes wandered toward him in an effort to see his face. Then I caught myself and stared intently at the wall once more. 

"Tonight's episode," said Lord Carle, his voice rising, "confirms the conclusion I had already reached, which is that you are ill-suited for independent duties. To be allowed independence, a servant must have respect for his master, and you have no respect for your superiors at all. Indeed, so deep is your insolence that I am beginning to wonder whether you even respected your Koretian superiors before coming here. So, much as I would like to banish your troublesome presence and rid myself of the Koretian blood-fly I was foolish enough to take into my care, it is my duty to keep you here at the palace. It is my obligation, as your master, to teach you your own duty, which is to behave in a civilized Emorian manner. I have told you before: If you want to plot in your mind the murder of the Chara or the watering of my wine, I will not interfere with that. But while you are under my care, you will keep those schemes deep inside you and never allow them to be witnessed by me or anyone else. Do you understand?" 

"Yes, Lord Carle." My reply did not come out with cutting defiance as it usually did, but dully, as though the blade of my voice had been blunted by a heavy stone. 

"If you understand, then by all the laws of the Chara, you will—" 

He stopped abruptly at the sound of a knock. The door opened a crack, and I saw the Chara's son peering in. 

"Welcome, Lord Peter," said Lord Carle, his voice instantly mild. "May I help you with something?" 

I was still gazing rigidly at the wall, but I could see Peter looking between me and the council lord. "I did not mean to disturb you, Lord Carle. I can come at another time." 

"I am your father's servant and will one day be yours; I always have time to speak with the Chara's son." Lord Carle glanced at me. "We will finish this conversation later, Andrew. Return to your quarters now." 

I gave him the bow my duty required, and then turned to leave the room. My eyes were lowered, so I could not see the Chara's son, but I felt him brush by me as we passed in the doorway. 

As the door closed, I stopped and let my gaze rise again. As a senior council lord, Lord Carle had several chambers in his quarters, all connected by the passageway in which I stood. To the right of me, the dark passage led north and then east to the palace corridor door, but my gaze strayed toward the other end of the passage, to a window hidden in half-shadows from the passage lamplight. I walked forward until I was standing in front of the window; then I pulled back the shutters. 

A frosty breeze swirled in. This night was midwinter's eve, though the weather had been so mild this year that the first snowfall had not yet arrived. The moon lay below the edge of the world, and the city beneath was as dark as though the night sky had fallen atop it like a blanket. Its stars were the torches that still burned through the night, most of them coming from the soldiers who were patrolling the streets. A subtle scent wafted in on the breeze: the smell of the grape vines clutching the palace walls for warmth. These were the same grapes that were harvested to make the Emorian wine I had watered that night. 

I leaned against the stone passage wall, hugging my arms to my chest in order to protect myself against the cold. My eyes were not on the city below, nor on the countryside beyond, but on the border mountains, black against the black sky, still free of the snow that would block its passes in a short time. Somewhere over those mountains was the Jackal . . . but despite my words to Patrick, it had been many months since I had ended my futile prayers to the god. 

I do not know whether minutes passed or hours. But presently, standing with my shoulder against the chilly stones, I felt a presence, as though a warm breeze had made its way over the mountains from Koretia. I turned my head and saw the Chara's son. 

He was watching me. As I sighted him he took a step backwards, as though he had wandered into the midst of a secret and sacred ceremony. Then, when I did not speak, he said, "I didn't mean to disturb you. I was wondering what you were looking at, and couldn't see without coming near you, because the window is so small." 

His voice was as quiet as moonlight, and his look was so respectful that I forgot to whom I was speaking and said, "All of the windows here are small." 

He came forward then and stood beside me, looking out at the mountains. I moved as far as possible to the right to make way for him. 

He asked, "Are the windows larger in Koretia?" 

"They are much larger," I said, still caught in the spell of his quietness. "Koretians sit in their windows and look at the view outside. I suppose that the windows have to be larger because of the heat." 

His eyes still fixed on the mountains, Peter stepped forward and leaned his elbows on the windowsill, and then placed his chin atop his clasped hands. "I've only been to Koretia once. My father thinks it's too dangerous for me to visit there again. Some of the council lords have taken me with them on visits to Marcadia and Arpesh. But one day, when I become Chara, I'll have to stay in the palace all of the time unless war occurs. I'll never be able to leave here, and that makes this place seem like a prison to me sometimes." 

Something about the pain in his voice drew me closer, until I found I was standing next to him at the window, my arm brushing his. "But you'll be the Chara, and even if you can't leave here, you'll be able to do whatever you like." 

"Will I? My father can't do as he likes. He says that he wishes to spend time with me, but most days he's in the Court of Judgment or the Map Room or the Council Chamber. From dawn until bed he is kept busy upholding the laws of Emor, and he can't do anything that would interfere with his duties." 

I was silent for a moment, struggling to hold back the disrespectful words that were welling up in me, but I lost the battle. "I was watching you this evening, and you reminded me of a Koretian slave." 

The Chara's son looked over at me. His face displayed only curiosity. "I thought you didn't have slaves in Koretia." 

"We did in the days before the Chara took control. An old Koretian story says that the masters could see when their slaves were angry and hurt, and this enraged the masters, who punished the slaves repeatedly as a result. Finally the slaves begged to be allowed to wear masks so that their true thoughts would remain hidden from their masters. I don't know whether this story is true, but the slaves in Koretia certainly wore masks – and that's why you reminded me of them, because it seemed to me as though you were wearing a mask tonight, showing everyone only what you wanted them to see." 

I was breathless by the end of my bold speech, dizzy from lack of air or lack of fear. Peter put his chin back down on his knuckles and said, "That's what it felt like just now, listening to Lord Carle explain to me the proper way in which to manage servants. I've no doubt that he told me much that will be useful to me when I come to power. But something about the way he spoke of his slaves angered me so much that all I could think was that I mustn't let him know what I was truly thinking. And so I kept nodding as though I agreed, and I think he was pleased with our talk." 

"That's the best way to deal with Lord Carle," I said, as though the Chara's son were a fellow slave who needed my advice. 

"I'll remember that." He was silent for a long while, and I had begun to wonder whether he wanted me to leave when he asked suddenly, "Have we met before? I felt sure that we had when I saw you earlier. I suppose I must have seen you around the palace, but . . ." His voice trailed off. 

"It was in the cave." 

Even as I spoke, I knew that he would not be able to remember an encounter that had meant so much to me but so little to him. And indeed, for a moment he neither spoke nor moved, so that I began to prepare a longer explanation. Then, with a motion as quick as though his life depended on it, he took hold of my arm and swung me round to face him. This time I took care to lower my eyes, though I could sense him scanning my face. 

At last he emitted a slow sigh and released my arm. "Yes, your eyes are what I remembered," he said. "You were the one who ran away." 

Something made me say, "It wasn't me who threw the dagger after that. My friend John and I had come across your hiding place by accident." 

"Was there another boy there? I didn't see him." He was silent again, and I kept my gaze fastened on a rose-gold brooch pinning closed the neck-flap of his tunic. I had not noticed it before, but I knew that his father must have given it to him, for it portrayed the royal emblem, which can only be worn by the Chara and his heir. When the Chara's son spoke again, his voice was more hesitant than before, as though he was saying something he did not expect me to understand. "I told everybody that I ran after you that day because I didn't want you to reveal our hiding place. But really, the reason was that, when I saw you, I had a strong feeling that the two of us should talk." 

My eyes rose then, compelled not by my own will nor even by the words of the Chara's son, but by the same voice deep inside me that had commanded me to stay and look at the boy in the cave. For a long moment we stared at each other. 

It was Peter who broke away his gaze and turned back to look out the window, saying, "This is a beautiful view. But why are you standing here in Lord Carle's quarters, where he might find you? And isn't it a late hour to be watching?" 

"There are no windows in the slave-quarters," I replied, "and I'm not eager to go to my bed." I paused, and then added, "I have bad dreams on many nights, and I cry out. That wakes the other slaves, and they complain to Lord Carle's free-servant, who tells Lord Carle, and then I'm punished." 

The Chara's son murmured, "He ought to give you your own room." He caught the look in my eye, and a smile curled up slowly from one side of his face. "Yes, I can just see how he'd react if I told him that. 'Lord Carle, you punish your slave because he has nightmares. Would it not be better to give him his own chamber?' Should I go ask him that now?" 

"I would be happy to answer any questions the Chara's son has." 

The voice was not mine. For a moment we froze, and I saw the three of us clearly. Lord Carle, standing so close to us that I would have sighted him long before, but for the fact that my eyes were fixed on those of the Chara's son. Peter, his smile on the edge of fading as a barrier slammed down upon his face. And myself, not as quick as Peter to react, discovering what I had not realized while he was speaking: for the first time since I came to Emor, I was smiling. 

The Chara's son turned, as smoothly as though he had practiced this move on many occasions, and said in a composed and formal voice, "I am sorry to have disturbed you, Lord Carle. I fear I have also been disturbing your slave, whom I waylaid to learn whether he could give me information on Koretia, as my father wishes me to learn more about that land. I suppose that I ought to have listened closely to what you were telling me just now about not striking up idle conversations with slaves." 

Lord Carle's eyes lingered on me, and it seemed to me, for some odd reason, that he appeared more disappointed than angry. Then his gaze slid over to Peter, and I saw that he was looking at the emblem brooch, as though he were contemplating the Chara's duties. He bowed his head toward Peter. "I am sure that the Chara's son has done nothing wrong tonight. I look forward to continuing our conversation again some other time." 

The Chara's son acknowledged Lord Carle's bow. Then, without looking my way, he walked away. 

Lord Carle waited until he was gone before striking me to the ground. 

My head, which had felt dizzy before, grew even lighter from the pain. I stayed where I was, my hand touching the warm blood on my cheek, unwilling to rise only to be struck down once more. 

"You never learn," Lord Carle said with dangerous quietness. "I tell you to respect your masters, and the next time we meet, you are chatting with the Chara's son. It is obvious that you have the brains of a Koretian sand-beetle and that I am wasting my breath in using words on you. From now on you will stay in the slave-quarters and do work there. You will not come out of that basement until you have learned how to be obedient to your superiors. That will keep you out of trouble and will prevent you from spending half your time daydreaming in front of windows. Now get out of my sight before I lose my temper with you." 

I left his quarters. Then I left the palace. 

o—o—o

I had not even reached the city gates by the time the soldiers found me. What I remember clearest after that is standing in front of Lord Carle and telling him, in a voice so numb as to be matter-of-fact, exactly what I would do to him if I were holding a free-man's weapon. He heard me out, smiling the whole time. Then, with a voice as courteous as though he were a trader making a fair bargain, he explained to me exactly what he was going to do to me, and explained further that he would continue doing it until I apologized to him and promised to behave like an Emorian. And I listened without feeling, my face in a mask and my heart in a mask, knowing only that Lord Carle had placed me under the high doom. 

Memory is merciful; I have forgotten the rest. 

o—o—o

"There. You see what I mean." 

The boy's voice broke like an unwelcome shaft of light into my darkness. I was dimly aware that I was lying naked on the cold stone floor of a room with no windows and no lights. 

The darkness suited me. I had taken my night sky of blackness, bare even of stars, and wrapped it around me as a shield from the outside world. That world was nothing to me now but pain. 

I felt the voice fall upon me like a whip, and I instinctively gathered the darkness closer, seeking to bury myself in some corner of it which was so secret that I would never have to emerge again. Then something about the anger in that voice spoke to the pain I felt, and I opened my eyes. 

They were standing in the open doorway, silhouetted against the torchlight beyond: a boy and a man, both cloaked against the chill of the basement. This much I saw before the darkness drifted over me again. But the cruel light of their voices continued. 

"Lord Carle has a heavy hand," said the man. "But if you have learned anything from your lessons by now, it should be that the Chara does not have the power to change everything in this land to his liking. My subjects have the right to discipline their own slaves in whatever manner they wish." 

"This is not discipline; it is murder. You heard Henry say that Lord Carle has ordered that the beatings continue." 

"Henry also said that Lord Carle has ordered the punishment to stop the moment that the slave apologizes. The slave has not spoken since the punishment began three nights ago. If he dies, it will not be from murder but from suicide." 

"Lord Carle wants him to say that he will behave like an Emorian. How can he act like an Emorian when he is Koretian? You said yourself that it would be foolish for the Chara to treat his subjects in the dominions as though they were not alien in thoughts and customs. That is what Lord Carle is trying to do – he is seeking to make his slave into what the slave cannot be." 

"Lord Carle may be in error, but it is his right to choose the punishment. The slave tried to escape his master, and disobedience is the gravest crime that any slave can commit." 

"But it is my fault that it happened!" The boy's voice was rising in an unaccustomed passion. "He tried to escape because Lord Carle struck him down after I had spoken to him – I saw it happen. If anyone is punished, it should be me." 

"You have received your punishment here by seeing the price of your mistake. If the slave dies, it will be as much your fault as Lord Carle's." 

There was a long silence, and I began to wonder, in the security of my darkness, whether I would no longer be disturbed by the harsh light of their voices. Then the man's voice came again, more quietly. "I say this, not because I enjoy seeing you hurt, but as needful discipline. If the slave dies because of what you did, it will mean the death of only one boy, but some day you will have placed under your care thousands of men and women. This incident may teach you to avoid impulsive actions toward others, and to act only in the formal manner of the Chara." 

"Father," said the boy, his voice cold in its conviction, "that is not a lesson I need to be taught." 

The man paused before saying, "No, you are right. You are young and you lack experience, but you have already learned much, and some day you will rule this land well. So take this incident, not as a lesson, but as a reminder that the Chara must act without favor to any man. If the law calls for it, you must use the Sword of Vengeance on those you love, and you must use the Heart of Mercy on those you hate. That is why the empire's people will be placed under your care: because you have the strength to do what hurts you most." 

The boy, when he spoke again, sounded less sure of himself. "All that you say is true, Father: I must rule with fear as well as love. But I love the people, nonetheless, and it is hard for me to stand by and watch one of them abused. If you cannot interfere because this is Lord Carle's slave, could I not buy his slave from him?" 

"You have no money for such luxuries," said the man. "I do not wish to have you making purchases like that until you are old enough to know how to wield money and power and a sword without committing folly in the process. This latest episode does not help to convince me that you yet have enough wisdom." 

Again there was a silence, but this time I did not shrink back into my darkness, for a dim light seemed to linger there, as though something were rising over the horizon of my night sky. 

The boy said, in a voice barely above a whisper, "Please, Father. I have so little, and this is the only great thing I have ever asked of you." 

Some part of me that was beginning to surface out of the darkness was puzzled by this statement, but the man, when he finally replied, seemed to understand what the boy meant. "There has been little I could give you aside from the burden of my title. So, if this will make you happy, it will please me as well. If Lord Carle is willing to sell the slave, I will buy him myself, and have him assigned to work in your chamber. You will be in charge of the slave's discipline and may learn from this the challenge of disciplining an empire. It will be your job, though, to convince Lord Carle to sell the slave. I will not involve myself in that matter." 

"The laws forbid that you should," said the boy, and I realized that he was not exclaiming an oath but making a simple statement. 

"Come, now, I need my sleep, or I will not be able to rise from my bed in the morning. One lesson I hope you learn well is never to keep the people awaiting your word at the Court of Judgment." 

Footsteps fell, and then came silence, but I found I could not drag myself back into the darkness that had been shielding me from the pain. After a minute, I opened my eyes and saw the Chara's son kneeling next to me. 

I whispered, "Thank you." 

He did not reply at once, and as I tried to read his shadowed face, I realized that I had spoken in Koretian. Then he said in the same tongue, "I beg that you impart to me your name." 

"Andrew son of Gideon." 

The last three words came instinctively to my tongue, though they had been beaten from me during my first months of slavery, when I stubbornly insisted that I still possessed a patronymic, as any free boy would. 

The Chara's son showed no surprise at hearing me speak as though I were not a slave; he simply leaned forward. "I am Peter, Lord of the Chara's Palace and Chara To Be." He placed his hand on my arm as though welcoming me into his home, and then let it rest there for a while before saying in a low voice, "Don't worry. I'll return for you soon." He removed his hand, but only in order to pull off his cloak and place it over me. 

Once he had gone, I sunk back into my night sky. But it was no longer dark, for the silver disc of a moon had risen over the horizon.


	6. The Look of the Chara | 1

**_Blood Vow_ 3**   
**THE LOOK OF THE CHARA**   


**CHAPTER ONE**

Two hours after Lord Dean had left me gazing at the slave market from the council library, I was looking out of the same window, but my eyes were now on the black border mountains, and a smile was on my lips. I was thinking, not of the land that lay beyond the mountains, but of the night when Peter had joined me at my window vigil. 

My thoughts were cut off abruptly by outcries that flooded into the room like sunlight from a window whose shutters have just been opened. Turning my head, I saw the council porter, with mouth agape, standing at the open library door. Behind him, the thirty lords of the Emorian council were shouting amongst each other. 

The porter rapidly closed the door to the scene. "Heart of Mercy!" he exclaimed. "I thought I had already checked this room. The High Lord will have me up on charges for this." 

I had been sitting atop one of the desks, the only way that I could see through the chest-level window while seated. Now I rose and said, "They've started already? I wasn't paying attention to the time." 

"They have, and it's a closed meeting, as planned. Lord Dean sent all of the council officials away except myself. The Empire of Emor will not be wide enough to hide me once the council finds that you are here." 

He was clutching the rod of discipline that denoted his office, yet his pale face looked anything but confident. I said in an unperturbed manner, "The fault is mine. I will tell Lord Dean so when I see him next." 

Perhaps he had expected me to be as frightened as any other man would be to find himself an unwitting witness to a private council meeting. My deportment, though, must have assured him. He said in a less ruffled manner, "Thank the wisdom of the Charas that it's you, anyway. I heard Lord Carle say once that the Chara might as well make you a council lord since you receive a report on every meeting from the Chara himself. I will have to escort you out now. Perhaps by the time that this meeting is finished, Lord Dean will be too weary to trouble himself with me." 

The council lords were still shouting, and their voices had risen to the point that I could hear some of what they were saying. The porter, mustering his courage, waited until I had joined him and then opened the door into the Council Chamber. 

The enormous chamber was dominated by an oval-shaped table, around which the council lords were placed. At the near end of the table was Lord Dean, presiding over his fellow lords; at the far end was the Chara. Since I had seen him that morning, Peter had changed into his everyday, peasant-brown tunic; pinned at his neck was the emblem brooch he usually wore. He could not wear his formal clothes to the Council Chamber, for at its meetings the council served, not the Chara, but only the law of Emor. The Chara was here as the council's guest. 

He was younger than most of the lords, but his pose had an ageless dignity, which may have originated from the fact that he was sitting calmly while all of the lords were on their feet, shouting in restless fury. As I stepped into the Council Chamber, the shouts cut off suddenly, as though I had intruded on the passionate lovemaking of a newlywed couple. 

Peter's eyes flicked over toward me briefly. Then he rose smoothly to his feet, leaned forward to place his palms on the table, and said to the now-silenced lords, "I am the council's servant in matters where the law requires that I defer to you. In matters where I am the master, I am always happy to receive your advice. But you seem to have forgotten in this case that I am coming to you for your advice, not your orders. I am Commander of the Armies, and it is my duty as Chara to go to the scene of battle whenever war arises, whether to bring destruction or to bring peace. None of you has denied that we are on the verge of war with the Koretians. I must remind you, then, that I am not going to Koretia for the sake of my own pleasure, but because the law demands it. Therefore, the fact that I am going is not a matter which the council may dispute." 

He waited for a moment to see whether any lord would speak, but the room was silent as the porter and I neared the door to the corridor. Changing from the hard voice of a father exacting discipline to the diffident voice of a son asking his elders for help, the Chara added, "Since that matter is settled, I would appreciate your guidance on how I may best deal with the problem that troubles me most in Koretia . . ." 

I did not hear the rest of his speech, for the copper doors of the chamber had boomed shut behind me. Ignoring the disconcerted looks of the guards flanking the doors, I ducked under their spears and made my way back down the corridor. 

I had intended to return to the Chara's quarters to consult his law books on some questions that remained in my mind. Instead, I found myself lying some time later under the only tree in the inner garden of the Chara's palace, my eyelids closed and ruddy as I tilted my head in the direction of the sun. 

I must have slept. My next awareness was of something soft brushing my arm. I opened my eyes and saw, kneeling by my side, Lord Carle's Koretian slave-girl. 

I stood up with a rapidity that must have frightened the girl, for she rose hastily herself and said, "I'm sorry to disturb you, sir! I just thought that you might have a free-man's weapon that you would be willing to use for me." 

The oddness of this speech gave me a genuine reason to pause and take in the girl's appearance, as best I could in the dim twilight. She was about twelve years of age, on the threshold of womanhood as the people of the Three Lands judge such matters, and her skin was much darker than my own. She had been trained as a slave, for she kept her eyes carefully lowered, but had not been trained for long, for she was standing far closer to me than she ought to have been. 

My silence lingered long enough for her to add hastily, "My master's free-servant sent me to pick some of the roses on the garden trellis, but I cannot pull them off, for they are too tough. It is not for me to ask such a thing, but I do not want to come back empty-handed, and I thought that if you had a dagger, you might be so very kind as to cut one or two of the flowers." 

She stood with one foot slightly behind the other, poised to flee if I treated her as she might expect to be treated after speaking so boldly to a free-man. I had spent fifteen years in the palace, watching as lords plotted against lords, as officials betrayed officials, and as everyone attempted to sway the Chara, so it did not take more than a split second for me to perceive her plan. But I found myself saying, "As you see, I bear no weapon, but I would be happy to help you with the flowers if I can. Where are they to be found?" 

She pointed the way to the rose trellis, which was still gleaming white in the dusk-light. I walked down the slope of the small hill on which the tree was planted, passed through a gate in the stone wall surrounding the garden, and walked over the narrow perimeter of pavement between the garden and the courtyard walls beyond. There, climbing one of the walls, were the white roses; I reached up to pull a bud from off of the vine. 

Looking up at me, the girl said, "Excuse me for asking, sir, but you are Koretian, are you not?" 

"I was born in Koretia." I kept my eyes fixed on the rose, which was proving to be tougher to handle than I had expected. 

"I heard from one of the other slaves that you were once Lord Carle's slave. Is that true, sir?" 

"Yes." I was beginning to wish I bore a free-man's blade; it seemed that I would have no luck pulling the rose out by hand. I sensed rather than saw the girl take a step closer. With a wrench, I pulled the rose out, pricking my finger on a thorn as I did so. I turned, but it was too late; the girl had used the moment to step close to me. 

"I was surprised this morning when I heard you talking to Lord Carle as you did, and that was even before I learned that you were once his slave. It must take great courage to address your former master in such a way. I was . . . stirred by your bravery." 

She took another step forward, brushing past my hand, so that the rose fell to the ground. I opened my mouth to speak, but was cut off by a voice saying, "I would hate to see you waste your efforts here, Levina. If you must seduce your way into a new master's bed, I suggest that you take the trouble next time not to squander your skills on a eunuch." 

Lord Carle had the sort of voice that demanded attention from his slaves, but for a moment before the slave-girl turned from me, I saw the changing expressions on her face. 

First came the surprise. I knew that I could not attribute this solely to my strongly controlled pitch of voice, which had misled more than a few of the palace dwellers. Part of her surprise arose from ignorance. She had no doubt heard back home that a few of the more barbaric Emorians practiced such monstrosities on their slaves, but like most Koretians, she was unlikely to have met a gelded man before. If she had, my boyish appearance would likely have alerted her to what she was facing. 

First the surprise; then came the shock, followed by the anger. And then came the expression I had seen so many times in the past fifteen years that it was forever present in my nightmares: the contempt. 

Then she turned away with fright to face her master. He took little notice of her, but simply jerked his head in the direction of his quarters. When she had gone, he said to me, "Whatever else you may be, you are not a fool, Andrew, so I am unwilling to believe that you were taken in by that act." 

I knelt down to pick up the rose. Without looking up, I said, "I did not want to hurt her feelings. If I had been your slave-girl, I too would have used any means I could to find a new master." 

"I have no doubt that you would have." At his tone, I looked up, but I did not rise from where I knelt. Lord Carle continued, "But whatever your own views on the usefulness of changing from master to master, I would appreciate it if you would not give my slaves the opportunity to test the limits of their loyalty to me." 

I looked back down at the white rose and touched it gently. As I took my fingers away, I saw that the petals were now stained red. I said, "Then you will have to punish the girl. I am sure that your discipline will work on her." 

"It is a pity," said Lord Carle, "that it did not work on you. The Chara might be safer if it had." 

I reached out to touch the rose again, my fingers brushing the velvet petals with restrained gentleness as I said, "The Chara, at least, has nothing to fear from me." 

There was a silence so long that I was sure Lord Carle had gone, but when I looked up again, I saw that he was merely waiting for me to raise my eyes. He said softly, with emphasis, "If the Chara is safe, then I am sure that everyone else in this palace is safe. As I said before, you are not a fool." 

He left then, but I continued to kneel beside the blood-stained rose for some time. 

o—o—o

"I . . . am . . . dead." 

Peter pronounced these words with the solemn gravity of the Chara reciting a proclamation, and then flung himself down onto the reclining couch in his sitting chamber. 

I moved a vase of white roses onto the table next to him. "Here is your flower arrangement." 

Peter grinned up at me. "You always know ahead of time what I need. Have you prepared my funeral oration as well?" 

"You ought to have given me more advance notice. You will have to delay dying for a few weeks, so that I can have your clerk write it up for the records." 

Peter turned on his side to look at me. His hair was sun-bright in the golden light of the late-night fire beyond him. He was lying near the north wall of the chamber, which contained the hearth, his writing table, and the door to the free-servant's sleeping chamber. I had returned to the window that faced south and was standing by it, pulling some berries from the bowl I had laid on the sill. 

"You must have stayed to eavesdrop on the rest of the council meeting," Peter said. "That is exactly what Lord Dean told me. He seemed to think that I could arrange the timing of my own death in the same manner that I issue my commands. . . . Speaking of council lords, I met Lord Carle on the way here. He told me that he started a conversation with you this evening. He always tells me when that happens, though I have explained to him over and over that it is of no interest to me any more what goes on between the two of you, and that I am sure you and he can behave in a civilized fashion. Nonetheless, he struck me as having a particularly guilty look on his face tonight." 

I withdrew my fingers from the bowl and wiped them on a cloth nearby. "Lord Carle only reported to you half the story. Our conversation was a continuation of one we started this morning, when I burst in on his quarters unannounced." 

"What are you doing, training yourself to face danger in Koretia? What prompted you to do such a thing?" 

I folded the cloth into quarters, then into eighths, before saying, "I heard him disciplining his new slave." 

"Ah." Peter looked reflectively at me. "You mean Levina?" 

I jammed the cloth under the bowl to keep it from being blown away by the night breeze. "All-knowing Chara, do you have the names memorized of every slave in this palace?" 

"Probably," replied Peter cheerfully. 

"Then you are as much a god-man as the Jackal. How do you keep them all straight?" 

"Oh . . ." Peter let his voice trail off. He stared up at the ceiling, paused for a moment, and then recited, "'And being as it is more grave that a slave should strike a free-man, it is declared that if any slave does so, either to his master or to any other slave's master or to a free-man who does not own slaves, he shall be brought before the court under whose care he is placed, and the circumstances of the crime shall be determined by the use of at least one witness. Further, it is declared that, in order to be summoned on a charge of this crime, the slave must have done the following . . .' Skip the next part; I always used to fall asleep trying to memorize the Definition of each law, because it required me to learn the most circumlocutory clerks' language you can imagine. 'For just as it is required that the Emorian people show proper reverence toward the Chara, so also it is required that those who have been bound into slavery show proper respect toward their masters . . .'" 

He caught my look and smiled. "I won't bore you with the rest of the law's Justification. It's one of Lord Carle's favorite Justifications, and I'm sure you've heard his version of it far too many times. 'This being so, the law has been used in the following Cases . . .' Switch over at this point to the Case volumes and spend an hour hunting up a dozen court cases and then memorize _them_. 'And so the prisoner shall be taken to his court, and witnesses shall be brought to show what happened, and it shall be the solemn duty of the judge to decide whether the striking took place with clear understanding and without provocation. . . .' Ignore the next reference; an entire law book is devoted to explaining what constitutes clear understanding and provocation for the various ranks, with subreferences explaining how acting with provocation is the opposite of acting willfully. I had those passages memorized by age seven. 'And then, if the judge has determined that the striking was done under provocation, he shall pass a sentence of mercy; and if the judge has determined that the striking was done without clear understanding, he shall pass a sentence of branding; and if the judge has determined that the striking was done willfully and with clear understanding, he shall pass a sentence of imprisonment. And being as it is more grave that a lesser free-man should strike a nobleman—'" 

Peter stopped, looked over at me, and said, "Well, it goes on to the next law from there. I was required to memorize word for word the five hundred major laws, but I only had to remember the main points of the other eight thousand laws. After ten years of lessons like that, memorizing the names of a few slaves is easy by comparison." 

I looked at the bowl again, then picked it up, placed it on a ledge nearby, and unfolded the cloth to place it over the top of the bowl. Peter said, "I _am_ thinking of the right slave? The pretty Koretian one?" 

"Yes." 

I tried to reply in a matter-of-fact tone, but I saw Peter's eyes flick over toward me. He asked quietly, "Would I guess right if I were to assume that your conversation with Lord Carle concerned the pretty slave?" 

I was silent. Peter sighed as he rose from the couch. "No wonder Lord Carle looked guilty. Here. Lie down. I'll bring you a drink – you probably need it as much as I do." 

The reluctant corners of my mouth obeyed the command of his eyes, and I smiled and lay down where Peter had reclined. He came back after a minute, holding a pitcher and a single cup, and seated himself cross-legged on the floor beside me, pouring our wine. 

"Does this mean that you're now the servant and I'm the Chara?" I asked as I took the cup he had sipped before handing it to me. 

"I wouldn't burden even the Jackal with the sort of duties I have to undertake. Today has been the worst day I can remember in a long while. I'm actually beginning to look forward to the dangers of Koretia as a pleasant change from the dangers of this palace." 

"The council was difficult?" 

"The council and everyone else." Peter leaned his back against the side of the couch and stared morosely at the cup I had drunk from and then handed back to him. "I just had a four-hour discussion with my subcommander on the many nefarious campaigns he has devised to crush the Koretians. I was forced to listen carefully to all that he said, because I may need to use one of those campaigns. This morning I listened to three hours' worth of court testimony, only to finish by kissing the pendant and telling all of the people there what they already knew: that the prisoner was a council official and therefore under the care of the council, not myself, and that all I could do was to give the council judge my recommendation for the judgment and sentence." 

"Will he accept the recommendation?" 

"I believe so; he often does. So I suppose my morning wasn't a complete waste of time, though it felt like it. I never had a chance for a noonday meal – what was that you were eating just now?" 

"Wild-berries." I laughed at Peter's expression. "There are some Daxion nuts by my bed. I'll get them." 

"Stay where you are." Peter bounced up and darted into my room as though he were a light-footed goat rather than the ruler of an empire. Returning with the bowl, he seated himself where he had been before and popped a nut into his mouth. 

"The council meeting was the worst, of course," he said through chews. "You heard how I had to remind the lords of my full authority before I could get them even to lower their voices." 

I reached down to take a handful of nuts. "After that, I imagine there wasn't much they could say." 

"You'd be surprised," said Peter dryly. "Lord Dean gave me a small lesson in logic. I felt as though I were a schoolboy again. It was offered to my attention that, firstly, the dominion governors are lords of the council. Secondly, the dominions are therefore under the care of the council. Thirdly, the Chara may therefore only interfere with the dominions when they are without governors or in wartime. And fourthly, in conclusion, as follows from the premises, propositions, and postulates, I should keep out of Koretia until war actually breaks out – at which time, of course, the law allows me to try to bring peace. In other words, my High Lord believes that I should wait until the land is half burnt before I try to extinguish the flames. I was not impressed by his logic, and said so." 

"You must have succeeded in convincing him that you were right." 

"Stubborn as a Chara – that's the phrase, isn't it? That characteristic comes in handy sometimes. At any rate, I managed to bend the conversation over to the subject of my travelling companions, so that the council lords ended up spending the rest of their time arguing amongst themselves over which of the lords would accompany me on the trip. To my mind, the most logical course would be for the High Lord to remain safe in Emor while I'm gone, lest anything happen to me. But Lord Dean insists on going to Koretia – I think he wants to keep his eye on me." 

"I suppose that we can depend on him for pleasant conversation, at any rate." 

"If pleasant conversation is what you're expecting, I must crush your hopes by telling you that the other member of our party is Lord Carle." 

I reached down again to the bowl and fished among the smaller nuts. "That will be tedious for you. Didn't you have any say in the selection?" 

"I could hardly refuse to bring Lord Carle. He knows more about Koretia than I do . . . and bringing him saves me the necessity of bringing a conspicuous bodyguard." 

"He'll hate every minute of the trip." 

"Actually, I think that he'll receive great joy from seeing all of his worst opinions about Koretia confirmed. Andrew, are you planning to touch _every_ nut before you choose one?" 

I smiled. "They are my nuts. Be grateful that I'm sharing them with you – it's not one of my duties as a palace guest." 

"Mmm." Peter licked his fingers and stared straight forward, toward the window. "The question of your duties came up at the meeting, actually. Lord Dean and Lord Carle are travelling in their own identities, along with their free-servants, and I am to be plain Lord Peter once more – there are about half a dozen honorary lords of that name scattered around Emor. The council asked me what disguise I planned for you. They didn't think that 'palace guest' was enough of a title to explain your presence on the journey." 

I held out the largest nut toward Peter and said easily, "If Curtis and Francis are serving Lord Carle and Lord Dean, then I'll be free-servant to you." 

Peter took the nut from my hand. "Thank you. It wasn't something I could command of you, but it's in fact what I suggested to the council. Since I'm to be disguised as a mere lord, I saw no reason why you wouldn't be willing to take on a lesser rank as well. At any rate, I thought you might have a better idea than I do of what to pack for Koretia. I was going mad at noonday trying to figure out what to take." 

"Are we leaving so soon?" 

"We're leaving tomorrow. I can't depend on thirty council lords to keep a secret for long, and I'd prefer to reach the governor's palace before the Jackal has news of my presence in his land. I've felt obliged to send my private messenger to Lord Alan, telling him of our trip, but I'm hoping that the various threats I wrote behind the lines will inhibit him from announcing our journey." 

"Then let me see what you've packed so far." I rose and walked into the Chara's sleeping chamber, leaving Peter to stay and collect the nut bowl. 

He had laid a number of items out on the bed in an orderly fashion. Most of the clothes, I could see at a glance, were too heavy to wear in Koretia. I began placing to one side the items that he could not bring; in the process, I uncovered a bone-handled dagger. 

I am not sure how long I stood staring at it. Presently I heard Peter say from behind my shoulder, "Lord Carle tells me that the Koretians wear their free-man's blades all of the time – not only on ceremonial occasions, but also as a form of protection. I can't bring the Sword of Vengeance, of course, so I thought that I'd take this." 

I placed a breech-cloth to the side, being careful not to touch the dagger in the process. "I didn't realize you had kept it." Even to me, my voice sounded as cold as an Emorian winter. 

"You said you didn't want it any more, so I kept it for myself, because it reminded me of the night I gave it to you." 

I turned then. Peter was watching me with a carefully neutral expression and guarded eyes that brought back to me a shock of memory. When I was able to speak again, I said, "It isn't a night that I would want to forget either, so I'm glad that you kept the dagger." 

Peter's expression eased. He reached over to the bed and said, "I suppose that I can't take the seal-ring; that would be proclaiming my title. I will take the brooch – nothing could part me from that – but I'll keep it hidden till we reach the governor's palace. Tell me, how does it feel to be returning to Koretia as an Emorian?" 

"Despite my frequent assertions," I said wryly, "I don't feel very Emorian at times. If a Koretian asked me to explain the law-structure of Emor, for example, I wouldn't know what to say – and this, despite the fact that I've had the best teacher on the subject." 

Peter's gaze flicked toward me and then back. Just as I never understood why he asked questions about subjects he was well versed in, so also he never asked the reasons why I made elementary enquiries. "We haven't spoken on the topic very often," he said. "The law is the last thing I want to think about when I have a free moment with you. What is it that puzzles you?" 

I went over to the sleeping chamber's chest, pushed the lid open, and began pulling out his lighter tunics. "Nothing that's important. Just various things that are unclear to me about the law's division of powers between the Chara and his council. You said that the prisoner who was tried today was under the care of the council because he was a council official. But didn't you have a case recently where you yourself handed down judgment on a council official?" 

"It was a more difficult case than that: I was judging one of the junior council lords who was being tried for murder. Ordinarily, the council takes care of its own, and I have no power to do anything other than offer my recommendations when the crime takes place in the palace. But if the crime is serious, then the council judge may ask me to sit in judgment on the case. If you ever want to explain Emorian law to a Koretian, you may tell him that an entire, thick law book is devoted to the three crimes punishable by the high doom, and I'm the only one who has that entire book memorized, so I'm usually the one who takes such cases. But since I and the council judge are the only ones who try prisoners for the Great Three, I don't suppose that most Koretians have even heard of the high doom." 

The room was dark with night shadows. I could not see what lay at the bottom of the chest, so I stood up, took a stick from the fire that had blazed in the chamber all day, and reached over to light the oil-lamp attached to the wall. I said, without looking Peter's way, "How did you decide whether to apply the high doom in this case?" 

Peter was silent for so long that I thought he would not reply. Finally he said, "In this particular case, the prisoner was placed under the high doom because he had killed an unarmed man." 

The lamp had finally caught fire. I stepped back and watched to be sure that it would stay lit. Behind me, Peter said, "But perhaps that's another Emorian custom that a Koretian wouldn't understand." 

"No," I said, tossing the lighted stick back into the fire. "Killing an unarmed man is considered just as serious an offense in Koretia." 

I stared at the fire a moment longer. Then, feeling Peter's eyes at my back, I looked over at him silently. Peter turned away and carefully undid the sorting I had just made of his clothes. "I fear that I have led both of us into a pitch-black cave, without bothering to bring a light with me," he said. "Let us move on to another subject. How did you spend your day? Aside from listening to insults from Lord Carle, I mean." 

"I spent my day doing absolutely nothing." 

Peter continued to look down at the items he was aimlessly moving from one pile to another, but a smile crept up the side of his face. "That sounds glorious. Where did you do this nothing?" 

I came over beside him and took a belt out of his hands. "In the council library, to begin with; hence my embarrassing appearance at your closed meeting. I must apologize to Lord Dean tonight before he takes vengeance on the porter." 

"I wouldn't bother." Peter left the sorting to my hands and sat down on the bed near me, leaning back against the wall. "I was witness to the porter's own apology, which was the most eloquent piece of poetry I've heard since I had a Daxion bard up on charges of stealing a bit of butter from the palace pantry." 

"You put a bard on trial for stealing butter?" 

"It's hard to believe, but the law classifies that as a major crime. Any use of the Chara's goods or money for forbidden purposes is considered a crime of disobedience – though you'll be relieved to hear that I let the bard go free. As for the porter, he has nothing to worry about; Lord Dean is fully occupied with planning this trip. Where did you go after you left the meeting?" 

"Out to do more nothing. I did it under a certain tree in the garden." 

Peter smiled and pulled his knees up to his chest, wrapping his interlocked hands around them as he leaned further back. "I'm glad that you found a good use for my birthday present. You've no idea the trouble I had in convincing the gardener that Emor would not crumble if he planted a Koretian tree in the palace grounds." 

"Is it a Koretian tree? I didn't know." 

"It turned out to be less expensive to bring a sapling over the black border mountains than to buy one of Emor's few remaining trees. I hope you won't stop using it, now that you know its barbaric origin." 

I didn't bother to reply, but tossed a tunic at Peter. Laughing, he prevented it from landing in his face. "If you've spent an entire afternoon doing nothing, then you must have had a particularly terrible morning. I hope that our talk in the Map Room wasn't what drove you to seek pleasure ahead of duty." 

I shook my head and knelt down to pull Peter's travel pack from beneath his bed. I knew that it was there only because I had cleaned the floor around it during my time as his slave. Over ten years had passed since it was last put to use. 

As I stood up, I saw that Peter was still watching me expectantly. I said, "Lord Dean saw me in the council library before the meeting. We had a talk on marriage." 

"Ah." Peter let the word drop like a heavy pebble into water. When the ripples were beginning to fade, he added, "Well, you needn't pass on to me what he said. I'm sure it's the same that was said to me at the meeting. That was what the council spent most of its time discussing: my ill-considered decision to visit a dangerous land when I have no heir. Fortunately, the lords did not insist that I beget an heir tonight, before leaving Emor." 

I began to fold the tunics in the tidy manner which had never come naturally to me, but which pleased Peter. After a while, Peter said, "It seems a curious topic for Lord Dean to discuss with you. Did he say why he chose you as the messenger of his views?" 

I noticed that his voice had taken on a note of quiet authority, but I ignored this and said simply, "He has asked me to mediate for him in the past." 

"That isn't what I asked." He waited. When I did not reply, he said, "Andrew." 

I continued to stare down at the tunics, but my hands were checked in their motions. Peter said, "Andrew, it is my duty as Chara to know what methods my council lords are using to try to influence me. Do not make me have to command you in this matter." 

I stared at the items I was packing and took a moment to still my heart before saying, in the neutral voice that the Chara's clerk adopted when reporting the words of a witness, "Lord Dean said I would be able to demonstrate clearly to you the importance of fathering an heir. He also said he was sure that, like any other man, I understood the desire to raise a family." 

I did not look up at Peter, but I heard him slowly let out his breath, as though he himself had taken the blow. "May he die a Slave's Death," he said. "He actually told you that?" 

I did not reply. His voice dangerously low, Peter added, "High Lord or not, he can be summoned on a charge of insulting a free-man. I would request such a charge if you wished." 

"No." I reached over and picked up the dagger without thought, and then placed it hastily in the pack before reaching for the tunics from the chest. Finally I said, "He probably just forgot." 

"Lord Dean never forgets." 

The bitterness in Peter's voice made me look up. Peter was staring into the distance as though peering at an invisible scene. "When I was four years old," he said, "Lord Dean took me to see some kinsmen of his in his hometown of Busedge. It was the first time I'd ever left the palace, and it was one of the happiest periods of my life. The High Lord let me have my way in everything; he wasn't strict with me the way my father always was. Toward the end of the visit, I confided to Lord Dean that I had once tried on the Pendant of Judgment to see what it felt like. Lord Dean promised to keep my secret – and he did, for many years. Then, one day about a year before my father died, I was talking with my father and Lord Dean – you may remember, for it was on the night when we first spoke. Suddenly, to gain a trivial point in an argument with my father, Lord Dean mentioned what I'd done. I've never forgotten the look my father gave me, and I've never trusted Lord Dean since then." 

He pulled his gaze away from the past, reached to his tunic, and unclasped the emblem brooch in order to toss it to me. "You'd better pack this now. . . . It was perhaps unwise of Lord Dean to reveal his true nature so clearly to the Chara To Be. These days, if I were about to be cut down in battle and needed the help of either Lord Carle when he was being his most brutal or Lord Dean when he was being his most amiable, Lord Carle is the one I'd turn to." 

"It's not a choice I'd want to make," I said, wrapping the brooch carefully in a face-cloth before packing it. "At any rate, Lord Dean does have a point in what he said to me." 

"Lord Dean's points are like dagger points; they can only kill. Listen to me." Peter pulled himself forward so that he was kneeling on the bed close to me. "If I ever need advice on who to marry, it is you I will go to, not a man like Lord Dean. You know me better than anyone, better than even my father knew me, and nothing of what you are to the world changes what you are to me." 

I said nothing, did not even look his way, but let my smile be my reply. After a moment, Peter pulled himself back to his place against the wall and said, "Well, you had better tell me everything that the old fox said to you this morning." 

I told him, and when I was through, Peter said, "Some of what he says is true. He's wrong, of course, to think that I wouldn't marry for fear of hurting our friendship. You and I both know that it's possible to love more than one person at a time. But he's right in thinking that our friendship has affected the way I look at marriage. It is just that it goes much deeper than Lord Dean sees." 

I tossed the pack to one side, drew myself up onto the bed, and sat down beside Peter, sharing the same wall as my backrest. "How deep?" 

Peter thought for a moment before saying, "Masks. Do you remember that we discussed masks this morning? And I mentioned the slave-masks that you told me about when we first talked. Since that time I've had experience wearing an even more rigid mask, and it isn't the terrible bondage that I once thought it would be. It's a burden, of course, being the Chara and subsuming my own person in the role that I was born to play. But this is something I've chosen of my own free will to do, and I love to do it – sometimes. There are times, though, when I tire of being the law's embodiment and need simply to be myself. You're one of the few people with whom I can be myself, and that's one reason I'm grateful to know you. If I were married—" He stopped. 

"You might find a wife with whom you could take off your mask," I said. 

"Perhaps I will, but I haven't found her yet. And I couldn't bear to spend the entire day as the Chara, and then return to my quarters in the evening and be forced to continue that role. I want to remove my mask then, as I do with you. I think . . ." He paused, and then said deliberately, "I would never willfully neglect my duty, of course. But if my duty required me always to be the Chara, I think that I would become unbalanced." 

I remained silent a moment, balancing in my mind what he had said and what Lord Dean had said. Knowing what I did by now of Peter's burdens, it was not a hard judgment for me to make. "Well, then, you are right not to marry yet. And you should place Lord Dean under the high doom if he tries to change your mind." 

Peter smiled, the lines of pain in his face disappearing like scratches on the earth fading under rain. "I knew that you would understand. So will you promise me something, please? If you go back to Koretia and find that it's truly your home, of course you must stay – I'd be angry with you if you didn't. But will you please not stay in Koretia out of some misguided sense of duty that Lord Dean has tried to impress upon you?" 

"I promise you, unless we discover some unknown law that requires me to stay in Koretia, I will remain with you as long as you need me." 

"You've just given me a reason never to read the law books again," Peter said. "Lord Carle will be annoyed with you for interfering with my studies." 

"I don't suppose that Lord Carle lacks reasons to be annoyed with me," I said. "But in any case, you needn't worry about Koretia. Emor is my home, and the dagger I just packed is proof of it."


	7. The Look of the Chara | 2

**CHAPTER TWO**

Long before he arrived, I heard the cheering of the slaves lining the corridor to receive a glimpse of him as he walked back from the Court of Judgment. I had arrived at his quarters two hours before and had found that the guards were so overcome with excitement that they did not even question why a slave would be entering his master's quarters at so late an hour and on such an evening. 

I stood with my head resting against the jamb of the southern window as the cheers intensified, and then the door opened and the acclamations died down as Peter entered the room and closed the door. 

His cloak had become tangled in the chain holding the Pendant of Judgment. He brushed the cloth free with a heavy, stylized gesture, and his head turned with slow dignity as he began to look around the chamber. He caught sight of me before I could see his face, and by the time he had turned his head he was grinning. He looked no older than his sixteen years. 

"Thank the spirits of the dead Charas that it's you," Peter said, tugging at his sword sheath with a fumbling grasp. "If it were anyone else, I would have to go on pretending that I was immortal and invulnerable, rather than ready to drop from exhaustion." He placed the sheathed sword on the writing table, pulled impatiently at the clasp holding his cloak, and hissed softly as the pin bit into his finger. Flinging his cloak onto the chair next to the fire, he stood smiling at me for a moment without moving, as though drawing upon my silence after the music and cheers of the court. 

I did not bother to move to collect the cloak. "Did the ceremony go well?" I asked. 

"The ceremony went very well. I, on the other hand, was terrible. Lord Dean has been drilling me for three days on where to stand, how to move, what to say – and when the time came for me to act, I simply forgot everything that he had told me. I am not at all sure what I did, and I'm certain that I've offended – or amused – all of the elder lords and officials who were at my father's installation." He threw himself onto the couch, letting one of his legs dangle off the side and pressing the back of a wrist onto his forehead. For a moment he stared at the ceiling, and then with the quirk of a smile he said, "I wish that my father had been present to show me what to do. He always used to glare at me whenever I was about to make the wrong move at ceremonies." 

He added in a low voice, "But since it is not possible for one Chara to attend the enthronement of the next Chara, I did the best that I could. It was hardest of all to make my oath. I was supposed to be swearing my oath to all of my subjects, but you weren't there, and you were the subject to whom I would have most liked to have said those words." 

I did not speak. Down below in the city, I knew, the celebration bonfires were blazing, set not only by the city inhabitants but also by the visitors who had flooded into the city from the Three Lands. Harp music drifted across from the southern end of the palace where the lesser free-men had gone after the ceremony. A more rowdy tune was being sung in the basement slave-quarters where I had lived for the past five years. The young Chara turned on his side, resting his head on his elbow, and for a moment his face was serious. 

Then he picked up the emblem brooch from a nearby table. He held it up in the air but did not put it on, since he had not yet taken off his pendant. With mock despair, he said, "I would _like_ to think that I have undergone the worst experience I will ever endure during my reign, but I'm beginning to understand why my father was so short-tempered. Today I spent an hour listening to Lord Carle explain how Emor will crumble if I'm not familiar with every subsection of every section of the Chara's laws. Tomorrow I preside over the Court of Judgment, which I'm dreading, though the court summoners tell me they have scheduled only easy cases for the next fortnight. And yesterday I spent most of the day with my clerk, trying to make sense of these—" He flung his hand out toward a pile of newly-penned documents stacked on a table next to the couch. His fingers caught the edge of the pile, and a few of the papers tumbled down. I walked forward, knelt by the table, and began placing the fallen papers back on the stack. 

"My apologies," said Peter, watching me from an arm's length away. "As though my slaves didn't have enough to do, preparing for my enthronement. What terrible tasks has the palace slave-keeper been assigning you?" 

As he spoke, I continued to stack the papers carefully together. Most of the documents were scribed in Old Emorian, the law language, but one sheet caught my eye because it was written in Modern Emorian. I glimpsed its title – "Slaves to be Assigned to the Household Service of Peter, the Great Chara" – and scanned the short list of names before quickly thrusting the sheet into the middle of the stack. Then, my heart thumping, I looked up at Peter. 

He had not noticed my action; he had looked away momentarily to wipe the emblem brooch on his cloak, and now he was raising it up again to see it shine in the firelight. As he caught me observing him, he smiled at me, and at his look, I felt my chest grow less tight. 

"Does not the Chara know what his own slaves are doing?" I asked, allowing my eyes to smile back at him. 

"The Chara has—" He calculated rapidly in his head. "I have 936 slaves, 165 court officials, and 289 palace free-servants – minus one, Drogo, because I inherited him from my father and hated having him as my personal free-servant. Dismissing him was my one purely pleasurable deed during the past few days. Other than Drogo, I have no idea what any of the people under my care are doing. I feel like a babe who has just been given charge over an army and must issue his first proclamation." 

The door to the corridor opened. Peter and I gaped up from where we were, Peter lying on the couch, and me kneeling close by to him. Then I carefully picked myself up and went over to the fireside to gather up the Chara's cloak. 

Peter had risen as well, saying smoothly, "It is good to see you, Lord Carle. I did not think that you would be by here until later." 

I turned around with the cloak and saw that Lord Carle was watching me. His sword was unsheathed and his expression unreadable. Then his gaze slid over to the Chara, and I saw that Lord Carle was looking at the brooch that Peter still held in his hand. I wondered whether he would scold Peter for holding an ornament that was not part of his ceremonial dress. But all that he said was, "The guards allowed me in, since you told them to expect me. I beg your pardon for not knocking. It is hard for me to remember that you are no longer a boy." 

"Yes," said Peter tersely. "Andrew, please take Lord Carle's cloak—" 

Lord Carle waved me off. "I was on my way back to my quarters to change, but thought that I would stop to give you my congratulations." He raised his fist to his heart and held his sword blade against his forehead, imitating the oath of loyalty he had just given in the ceremony. "I will come by later, as you had requested. I am sorry to have disturbed you." 

Peter relaxed his stiff pose as the door closed. "Thank the laws that he's gone. He is always respectful and helpful, and I know that he is the most loyal free-man I have, but he makes me exceedingly nervous with his formality. I sometimes think that he privately considers me a fool who is unfit for the office of the Chara." 

"Then _he_ is the fool," I said softly. "The Emorian people are lucky to have you." 

Peter started. As he met my gaze, he replied quietly, "Thank you. . . . Andrew, I have something here for you." He leaned over and fingered through the pile of documents for a moment before pulling out a sheet of paper and walking over to stand next to me. 

"I was intending to show this to you later, when we had a chance to talk," he said, "but you're here tonight. Can you read Old Emorian?" 

"Just a little, Chara," I said. "I learned some when I was young, and learned a bit more this spring when I was working in the court clerk's quarters." 

Peter gave a quirk of a smile. Slaves are not normally to be found scribing documents in the quarters of the Chara's clerk. Normally I would have been assigned other work while Peter took one final trip to the northern dominions with Lord Carle. But at the last minute, much to the palace slave-keeper's consternation, Peter had announced his wish that I be assigned a scribe's duties. I had overheard Lord Carle roaring at him about that decision. 

"Well, then, perhaps you can make some sense of this," Peter said. "I can read Daxion, Koretian, and half a dozen other languages, but I will never master clerks' language. I had my clerk scribe this today, and I've signed it and will seal it as soon as I figure out which court official has custody of my father's seal-ring. What all the language amounts to . . ." Peter held the paper out to me, his gaze fixed on my face. ". . . is that you are free. It is your manumission paper." 

I stared down at the page, seeing nothing among the black-inked words except the signature of Peter, followed by his half-dozen new titles. As though pulled, my gaze drifted up to the window on the other side of the room, through which I could see the black border mountains. 

Without knowing how I got there, I found myself standing by the window, peering out at the mountains as though I could look straight through them to my homeland. Behind me, Peter said, "I had planned to give you a present for your years in service at the palace. If you would like, I could give you the goods and money you will need to return to Koretia and restart your life there." 

His voice pulled me back from the scene. I turned and saw that he was standing where I had left him, my paper of freedom in his hand. He was watching me with a guarded expression I was accustomed to seeing when he was with others, but which he had rarely used against me. 

When I did not reply, he said, in the same, even tone as before, "On the other hand, if, for any reason, you should wish to stay in Emor for three or four years more, I am in need of a new free-servant and would be pleased if you took on the duty." 

I looked back at the dark mountains, and for a long while I remained silent. My right hand was clasped around my left wrist, and my thumb was rubbing the almost imperceptible remnant of a scar. Then I said, without looking at Peter, "Chara, I do not think that it is a good plan for a Koretian to stay longer in Emor than he is required to. The bonds of blood loyalty and land loyalty can become frayed over time, and it is best for a man to spend as much time as possible in the land that he has chosen as his home." 

I looked back at Peter. He had not moved; his expression remained neutral. It took me several more tries to force my words to the surface. "It would not be right for me to stay here for three or four more years and then return to Koretia. If, however, you would be willing to consider keeping me as your free-servant beyond that time, I would like to live as an Emorian and serve the Chara as long as I may." 

Peter turned suddenly and walked rapidly into his sleeping chamber, beyond my sight. He was a long time returning, and I found myself wondering whether I had failed some test he had set for me. But when he came back, he was holding a bone-sheathed dagger. 

He placed it in my hands and said, "I didn't think you would want this if you were returning to Koretia, because it is of Emorian design. But if you are to be a free-man in this palace, you will need a free-man's weapon to wear on ceremonial occasions. I had this made for you." 

I stared down at the dagger. The last time before the enthronement that I had seen a free-man's weapon had been that afternoon. Released from my work so that I might attend the slaves' celebrations, I had instead spent an hour eavesdropping on some of the free-servants practicing their vows. While Peter had been in the ceremony, I had stayed in his quarters and whispered those vows to myself, imagining that I was watching him become Chara. 

Now I pulled the dagger from its sheath, turned to face Peter, and placed the blade flat-wise immediately in front of my eyes so that it ran down the middle of my face like the nose-bridge of a mask. I did not kneel; an Emorian stands while giving his oath of land loyalty, in order to indicate that, while the servant has duties toward the master, the master also has duties toward the servant. 

"I, Andrew son of Gideon, free-servant of the Chara, do swear this vow unto the Chara Peter: that I will respect and obey the laws of Emor as they were given to the first Charas and as they are proclaimed by the Chara Peter, that I will use my weapon only as the Chara would have me do, and that I will serve the Chara with loyalty until death and beyond. This is my free-man's oath, sworn on this blade." 

My mind had been so much on the words that I was speaking that it was not until I was done that I saw Peter's face. It had a look on it that I had never seen before: his eyes were as I remembered them, but the lines of his face were molded into a severe and formal mask, as though he were something much more than a sixteen-year-old man. Placing his fingers upon the Pendant of Judgment that lay over his heart, he replied in a voice firm and sure. 

"I, Peter, the Great Chara of Emor and Its Dominions, Judge of the People, Commander of the Armies, Lord of the Marcadian Mountains, Ruler of the Arpeshian Nation, Master of the Koretian Land, do swear this vow unto you: that I will judge without favor to any man, that I will wreak vengeance upon my people's enemies, and that I will have mercy upon those who serve me with loyalty. This is the Chara's oath, sworn to those who are placed under my care and receive my peace." 

We stood a moment longer, frozen in our poses as though both of us had been taken over by something older and wiser than ourselves. Then we smiled, and I sheathed the dagger and hung it on my belt. 

o—o—o

Nine years later, I stood in the same room, looking down at the same dagger. 

I was standing next to Peter's writing table, which held the Chara's official documents, as well as a jewel case. I never touched the latter, but I did sometimes open the box beside it, which belonged to me and which hid my free-man's weapon. I reached out to touch the white and creamy hilt. The smooth bone was raised in rows of delicate lines criss-crossing each other, but at the very tip of the hilt, hidden to the casual eye, was the emblem that only the Chara could wear: the Balance, the Bird, and the Sword. 

I heard a noise behind me, and I slipped the dagger back into the box where it had lain for most of the time during the years since Peter had freed me. With my other hand, I picked up the Chara's ceremonial cloak from the fireside chair where he had discarded it the evening before, and turned to place it on him. 

Peter was wearing his silver tunic, and he was busy hooking to his belt the silver and gold Sword of Judgment. As I came forward, he said nothing, but turned to allow me to place the black cloak on his shoulders. When I had closed the cloak's clasp, he walked over to the small jewel box lying on his writing table and pulled out the drawer. He looked down upon it for a moment, then picked up the Pendant of Judgment and placed it around his neck. 

He caught my eye on him. "What is on your mind?" 

"You have been quiet this morning, Chara." 

Peter gave a faint smile. "You are polite. You mean that I'm not turning you deaf with my usual chatter." His hand went up to his chest, and he fingered the teardrop-shaped gold pendant with its large, central ruby. His smile faded as though it had been a hard-kept illusion. "You will have heard of the case that I have been judging." 

"Just a little. You mean the one involving Lord Carle's free-servant?" 

"His former free-servant. After Henry retired last year, you may recall that Lord Carle astounded us all by allowing him to continue living in his quarters. I suppose that even Lord Carle is capable of appreciating thirty years of loyal service. Since Henry is now a palace guest, he has been placed under my judgment for this case." 

"It was a murder, I heard." 

Peter gave me that look he sometimes cast my way when I was not as successful as usual at pretending ignorance of his deeds. "If you don't know the details, I think that you must be the only man in this palace who doesn't. But I suppose that the other servants haven't wished to discuss this case with the Chara's free-servant. Opinions are strong on the matter." He turned abruptly, closed the drawer that had contained the pendant, and said, with his back still turned, "I hand down my judgment today, and I expect that every chamber in this palace will be unmanned as the free-servants flock to hear what I say." 

He continued to stand with his back to me, and I waited to see what more he would tell me, but he merely said abruptly, "I must go. The people are awaiting my word." Without looking my way, he left the room. 

I bent down to pick up a face-cloth that had fallen from a table, and then made my way through the room, straightening piles of papers and putting away small items. Through the half-open door, I caught occasional glimpses of people walking by, all travelling in the same direction. After a while, I stood up from where I had been cleaning the Chara's boots, alerted without thought by a sound. No, not a sound, but an absence of sound: for once, the palace was absolutely silent. 

I looked into the corridor outside. The corridor was usually bustling at this hour with lords, officials, palace visitors, free-servants, and slave-servants. The only persons there now were the Chara's guards, and even they appeared restive beneath their standard stiff poses. I went to my room, changed my tunic, and then, formally dressed, I returned to the sitting chamber and took out the dagger that Peter had given me. 

A few minutes later, with my free-man's weapon clipped to my belt, I arrived at the Court of Judgment. Peter's guess had been right: the court seemed filled with every free-servant of the palace, as well as many of its officials. The crowd poured beyond the ceiling-high gold doors leading to the court floor, the place where I had stood on the few occasions that I had attended cases. Turning away, I moved toward the staircase to the balcony reserved for the council lords, their free-servants, and the Chara's free-servant. 

Even this proved to be crowded. As I arrived, the other free-servants, who had been talking in low voices amidst themselves, fell silent and parted without a word to allow me passage to the front of the balcony. There I found a space next to some of the council lords who were intently watching the proceedings. 

I had arrived in time for the court clerk's summary, used only in cases that lasted more than one day. The clerk, a shy man who struggled to overcome a stutter, was standing atop the thirty-stepped throne dais and reading the witnesses' testimony in as low a voice as possible. I could catch no word of what he said. Behind me, the servants had resumed whispering amongst themselves; below, the rest of the crowd was murmuring its opinions. 

"It is a difficult case. I would not want to be the Chara today." 

I turned my head and looked over at Lord Dean, standing beside me at the balcony railing. He smiled and said, "Your name is Andrew, is it not? We have met on many occasions, of course, but I don't believe that we have ever before had a chance to chat. I was surprised that you weren't watching the case on the previous days, as every other palace servant seems to be here. The Chara nearly decided to give judgment in private, but such was the notoriety of the case that he felt it better to have the witnesses speak in public." 

"I did not realize that the murder was so important, High Lord." 

"The murder is very unimportant, I think – the killing of an insignificant subcaptain. But Henry is facing a second charge of disobeying the Chara, and either one of those charges, you know, is enough to place him under the high doom. Still, the Chara has been generous in such cases before, and Henry may be fortunate enough to escape with a branding or enslavement." 

I could just catch sight of Henry, standing at the foot of the dais steps with his hands rope-bound behind him. His posture was as straight as it had been in the days when he had served Lord Carle, and his grey head was tilted to look upward, not toward the clerk, but toward the Great Chara, sitting in judgment above him. Peter's cloak flowed like black water over the white marble throne, his arms lay motionless on the armrests, and his face was cold and formal. I could not see his eyes. 

"This case will take the rest of the week if that clerk cannot stop stuttering," said Lord Dean, and he turned to his side to face me, leaning with ease against the railing. "Would you like me to tell you what is happening? The case is complex, but not so complex as the clerk is making it sound." 

I murmured to him my thanks, and then gazed back at the scene below as Lord Dean said, "The subcaptain was one of those soldiers who helped put down the Snow Hills Rebellion in Marcadia. I don't know whether you are aware that Henry was originally brought to this land as a Marcadian slave, several decades ago. He had already been free for some time when he took up service with Lord Carle. Henry's sister was also sent into slavery, though the court summoners have been unable to discover where she was sold – she was sought as a witness in this case, at the Chara's request. Henry claims that the soldier whom he murdered was the one who raped and enslaved his sister." 

The clerk ceased to speak, and a group of men standing at the foot of the dais were beckoned forward to sign their names to their written witness. I watched them walk up the steps one by one: some soldiers, a few servants, and a lord. 

Lord Dean followed my gaze and said, "Yes, Lord Carle chose to give evidence against his free-servant. He was the only witness besides the Chara himself to the charge of disobedience. As I'm sure you know, the Chara prefers not to give evidence in cases that he himself is judging, though he will usually do so if there is no other witness to a serious crime. In this case, however, Henry came to Lord Carle and confided to him that he had gone to see the Chara to ask him whether he might be allowed to bring a charge of rape against the soldier. The Chara told him that the court summoners had never allowed such charges to be made in the case of wartime assaults, and that he would not overrule the summoners. Then he commanded Henry to look no further into the matter." 

I watched Lord Carle bend over the paper that the clerk proffered and sign it with a decisive stroke. Out of the corner of my eye I could see Lord Carle's new free-servant watching his master, then turning to say something to Lord Dean's free-servant. My ear caught the word "Chara." 

Lord Dean leaned over the railing and said, "Of course, what all of the palace servants are discussing is whether the Chara should have overruled the summoners, but that doesn't enter into the judgment of this case. Henry has admitted his disobedience; he is defending himself against the charge of murder without provocation. He says that he went to see this subcaptain only to learn whether the man knew where his sister had been sold. Some of the palace free-servants bear out this testimony, and certainly Henry did not bring any weapon with him. Soldiers passing the subcaptain's tent did not hear Henry speaking, but they heard the subcaptain laughing. Henry claims that the subcaptain not only refused to tell him where his sister was sold, but that he also made personal and disparaging remarks about his sister, causing Henry to grow mad with anger. He killed the subcaptain with the soldier's own sword." 

Lord Dean cut himself off from his next sentence. The crowd quieted as the clerk and the last of the witnesses stepped down from the dais. Lord Dean leaned forward and joined me in watching the enthroned figure below. 

Peter's voice, when it came, was strong and stilted with formality. "Henry son of Howe, palace guest of the Chara: you have been brought here to answer two charges. The first charge is that you did murder without provocation Colm, Subcaptain of the Palace Guard. The witness in this charge is Baldemar, orderly to Subcaptain Colm, and the sentence for such a crime is mercy or branding or the high doom. You have accepted the charge of murder, but deny that it was done without provocation." 

The crowd was hushed as Peter reached toward the Pendant of Judgment. He raised the stone to his lips, kissed it, and then raised it to his forehead, where he kept it for a moment before allowing it to fall back to his chest. Dispassionately, he said, "The Chara's judgment is that the prisoner is guilty. The Chara's sentence is mercy." 

A sigh went over the crowd, like a soft wave breaking against a shore. Some of the servants behind me began to murmur, but when I looked over at Lord Dean, his gaze was still fixed upon the Chara. 

Peter continued, "The second charge brought against you is that you did willfully and with clear understanding disobey the command of the Great Chara. The witness in this charge is Carle, Lord of the Great Council, and the sentence for such a charge is mercy or enslavement or the high doom." Once more Peter's hand held the pendant next to his heart, where mercy resides; on his lips, where vengeance is spoken; and above his eyes, where judgment is made. Then he let the Pendant of Judgment fall and said, "The Chara's judgment is that the prisoner is guilty. The Chara's sentence is the high doom of death by the sword." 

I did not see how Henry reacted to the sentence, and only faintly could I hear the grumble of the crowd as it began to disperse. My eyes and thoughts were on the Chara, a young man of twenty-five years, sitting as motionless as though he were as permanent a being as a land or a god. 

Lord Dean said in my ear, "Many of the free-servants will be unhappy with the Chara's judgment and sentence." 

I turned away then, and with a voice as dispassionate as the Chara's had been, I said to the council lord, "It is indeed a hard case to judge." 

The white-haired lord smiled, the wrinkles on his face turning upward. "I have heard many fine stories of your tact and your loyalty to your master. Yet Peter tells me that you are always willing to offer your opinion on his actions, should he ask. That is a rare combination, a servant who is close-mouthed in public and candid in private. Should you ever wish to leave the Chara's service, I think that I could find some work for you that would bring good to our land. Or it may be that you will be able to find such a role while working for the Chara." 

I bowed to the High Lord in acknowledgment of his words, watched him walk away to discuss the case with another lord, and then left the balcony. 

o—o—o

I returned to the Chara's quarters and found Lord Carle there, holding the emblem brooch in his hand. 

The door was half-open, and I stood in the doorway for a moment, watching him. Lord Carle was looking down at the brooch with a smile, an easy, friendly smile which I had seen on only a few occasions during my years with him and which, it need hardly be said, he had never directed toward me. As he held the emblem up toward the light, he caught sight of me, but his smile did not disappear. 

"Good day to you, Andrew," he said, carefully replacing the brooch on the table before him. "I hope that you are well today." 

I stepped inside, leaving the door ajar as I had found it, and spent a minute assessing his face before I was able to convince myself that Lord Carle's words were anything more than his usual sarcasm. "Good day to you, Lord Carle," I said with detached courtesy. "May I offer you wine?" 

"Thank you, but no," he said. "I am on my way back to my quarters to change. I only stopped to give the Chara my congratulations for his fine judgment in this case." 

I kept my eyes fixed on his. It had been one of my keenest pleasures as a free-man to discover that I could now stare straight at Lord Carle without impunity. I said, in a voice still innocent of all emotion, "I am sure that the Chara will want to congratulate you as well for the help you gave in the case." 

The smile disappeared then, like water trickling out of a cracked cup, and I saw him probe me with his look. When he spoke, his voice was without anger, but there was a firmness to it that had not been there before. "It was of course regretful that I should have had to give evidence against my former servant. But Henry disobeyed the Chara, and it is important to Emor that disloyalty not be allowed to flourish." 

"Yes," I said. "I suppose the fact that Henry served you loyally for thirty years does not compensate you for discovering that you had a disobedient servant." 

I had flung myself into battle while holding only a child's dagger, I knew. This was not the manner in which free-servants were supposed to address council lords. But servants were not supposed to address the Chara in such a manner either, and I had grown used to my freedom in more than one way. 

Lord Carle was gazing at me now with narrowed eyes; his contented mood had vanished. "If Henry had been disobedient to me, I would have forgiven him," he said, raising his voice. "But he was disobedient to the Chara, to whom he swore, on his free-man's blade, that he would serve with loyalty. Betrayal of the Chara cannot be forgiven. The life of Emor depends on the Chara's subjects obeying his commands." 

My own voice began to raise above its customary low pitch. "If you are concerned with the Chara and not with your own pride, then you might recall that the Chara also made an oath of loyalty, one to show mercy toward those placed under his care. It is an oath, I think, that all masters should be required to make." I paused, and then added recklessly, "Since you have so much loyalty toward the Chara, perhaps you would like to begin such a custom." 

Lord Carle stood motionless; he was breathing heavily. He said, his words dropping like stones from a slingshot, "You are a fine one to talk to me of loyalty." 

My hand, which was resting on my dagger hilt, curled into a fist. "What do you mean by—?" 

"Enough," said the Chara. 

He was at the doorway; one of his hands had swept back the door, while the other was resting on the hilt of his sword. He stood in that stance for a moment, his cloak widened to twice its usual size, as he looked at both of us with the expression of the Chara in judgment. 

"Return here later," he told Lord Carle abruptly. Lord Carle bowed and left the room without a word. The Chara turned to close the door after the council lord, and when he turned back, his face had not changed. 

"You two," he said icily, "could be heard halfway to the Court of Judgment. As I walked down the corridor just now, the only servants who were not staring at me with scorn were those who were busy amusing themselves by listening to the Chara's free-servant pick a fight with a council lord. I did not need this today." 

He pulled at his cloak clasp, and then removed the cloak with one swift movement and threw it onto the fireside chair. His right hand came back to rest on the sword hilt. 

"I know that Lord Carle is a difficult man," he said, "but you do not make things easy for him. You are insolent toward him, in both words and looks, and on the occasions on which he has been courteous to you, like a soldier laying down his arms, you have repaid him with words as cruel as dagger-thrusts. I am tired of having to intervene on your behalf to keep Lord Carle from going to the court summoners and charging you with the crime of insulting a free-man. I am also tired of overhearing whispered jokes about how the Chara is Master of the Koretian Land but that he is not master of his own free-servant." The immobility of his face was matched by the coldness of his eyes. "Let me be clear, Andrew son of Gideon. From this moment, you are not to begin any conversation with Lord Carle unless I am present. I say this as the Chara. Do you understand?" 

"Yes, Chara," I said woodenly. 

"Good. Then go change out of those clothes. And put away that dagger – you have not behaved today in a manner worthy of a free-man." 

He turned his back on me and strode over to his writing table, but I did not move. When the Chara reached the table he paused, took off his pendant slowly, and held it in his hand for a moment. He said quietly, without looking back, "I saw you in the balcony. Was it Henry's case that you were fighting about with Lord Carle?" 

"Yes." 

The Chara let the pendant fall into the box where he kept it. He stood looking at the ornament for a moment longer, then turned and leaned back against the table. His face had lost its frigid lines, and he said in a low voice, "You should have saved your quarrel for me. I will have to defend my decision to every free-servant in this palace. I may as well try out my defense on you." 

I stood as rigidly as I had before. With eyes lowered somewhat, I said, "It was a difficult case to judge." 

I barely caught sight of the flicker of anger in Peter's eyes as he said, "That is the sort of statement I would expect to hear from Lord Dean, not you. I did not make you my servant so that you could tell me the polite lies that I hear from everyone else. I want your honesty." 

I raised my eyes to match his. "I think that you were wrong in your judgment and wrong in your sentence and wrong in other matters as well." 

"Thank you," said Peter. He pulled off his sword, laid it gently on the desk beside the pendant, and allowed his hand to rest on it for a moment. His gaze drifted over to the great blade beside him, and then returned to me. 

"I would much rather have been Henry today, facing the high doom, than myself, placing him under the high doom," he said softly. "If it had been my decision, I would have let him go free. But the case was not decided by me but by the laws of Emor, which I am sworn to uphold. When I vowed not to show favor to any man, it was precisely this sort of trial that was meant. If I were to show favor to Henry because I liked him, then I would no longer be restricted by the law of this land, and it is the Chara's law that keeps Emor from dissolving into the civil war that nearly destroyed Koretia. I suppose that this is hard for you to understand, since you were not born Emorian." 

"You could have found Henry guilty of disobedience but sentenced him to mercy." 

"The sentencing is part of the law. I should have explained the law-structure to you long ago, for you can't understand my duties without it. I am bound as fast as a prisoner by what the law says I can do. I am as much a servant to the law as any of my subjects – if I were not, I would not be allowed to rule, and if there were no Chara to proclaim the ancient laws, then the laws would cease to exist. My main duty is to keep Emor alive through my judgments, and I cannot do this if my subjects believe that they can disobey me without penalty." 

"Lord Carle said something like that just now," I murmured. 

Peter picked the brooch up off of the desk and stared down at the royal emblem. "Contrary to your belief, Lord Carle does occasionally speak words that are true. One thing he has told me is that I do not discipline you enough. I would not want to imitate Lord Carle's methods of discipline, but perhaps you have so often seen me showing mercy that you forget I wear the Sword of Vengeance. Did you know that in ancient times one of the Chara's duties was to execute with his own hands those who were placed under the high doom? The Charas used this sword for that purpose. I thank the wisdom of the dead Charas that I am not required to carry out such a duty – customs do change in Emor, but the laws do not change, and one law is that those who willfully disobey the Chara's direct command must die." 

He had been leaning against the table in as relaxed a pose as before, but as his eyes met mine, I saw he knew that we were in a dagger-duel as dangerous as any I had attempted with Lord Carle. Since he realized this, I did not hesitate before asking my next question: "And what of the custom that the Chara may overrule the court summoners?" 

"Ah." Peter gave a somber smile as he pushed himself away from the table and went over to stand by the sitting chamber's southern window. He looked out for a moment, and the light breeze that seemed never to cease in Emor blew his hair over his eyes so that I could not see them. 

"I knew that it would come to that in the end," he said. "This is harder to explain, because it has nothing to do with my duties as the Chara; rather, it has to do with my frailties as a man. In the court today, my duty was clear, and I had no choice but to take vengeance against Henry. But I had the choice of whether to take vengeance against the subcaptain for the rape he had committed, and I chose to have mercy." 

He turned toward the window so that I could not see even his face. "It has been nine years now since I left the palace," he said quietly. "I would have had to leave the palace if there had been threat of a war, but no wars have occurred since I became Chara. I have never been in battle, but my father told me what it is like. He said that the worst moments come, not during the fighting itself, but in the nights before great battles, when the soldiers are forced to wait for hours, knowing that they may die the next day. My father said that many soldiers who have been brave during sword-battle desert their duties during that terrible waiting. I used to wonder whether I myself would some day betray Emor in such a way, for I have never had to face the possibility of death. That is why I find it so hard to condemn others to death, and that is why I am unwilling to punish soldiers who commit evil deeds during war." 

He looked back at me, and I supposed that he expected me to make some gentle reply to this confession of fear. But I could see framed behind him the black border mountains, and there came to me an image of fear and destruction beyond that which he had given me. 

I said bitterly, "And what mercy have you shown toward the girl who was raped? You said that you have never been a soldier – well, you have never been the victim of a soldier either. You have not been raped or killed or enslaved, or watched as your city was destroyed on the orders of the Chara." 

Peter was still holding the emblem brooch. His fingers curled around it, not with vigor, but with tenderness, as though he were holding Emor itself in his palm. He said quietly, "I've never asked about your life in Koretia, Andrew, not even how it is that you came to be enslaved. I've heard you cry out in your sleep and guessed that that must be what you were dreaming about, but I did not believe that I had the right to question you. Since it is clear, though, that you blame the Chara for your enslavement, I think that I had better know what it is that you saw in that city when the Emorians attacked." 

I said, in a voice as icy as the Chara's had been some time before, "You mention my dream. I will tell you what it is that I cannot stop dreaming about. I dream of the day that I was enslaved, and of the soldier who enslaved me. That is not why I cry out. I cry out because the same soldier who enslaved me killed my blood brother John and raped and killed my mother. I cry out because the fire consumed my city soon after, so that even if I were to return there today, I would not be able to visit his ash-tomb." 

I failed to notice that the destruction in my mind had focussed itself on a single image. But when he spoke, Peter said, "I have heard of blood brothers but have never known what they are." 

"They are created by a blood vow to the gods, a vow between two Koretian friends who may some day be parted. Shortly before you and I first saw each other, John and I exchanged blood and swore to be loyal to each other beyond death and to uphold each other's vows. John swore to help bring peace to our land." I paused, making sure that my eyes were firmly centered on Peter's. "I swore to kill the Chara." 

When Peter spoke again, his voice was soft. "The Chara makes a vow to bring peace as well. My father believed that Emor could not have peace unless he attacked the Koretian capital. If I had had to judge the case myself, and if I had known what I know now – that the city would be destroyed, that all but a handful of its people would be enslaved or put to the sword, that your mother and blood brother would be killed and that you would be enslaved and gelded – if I had known all that, I would have given the same judgment as my father did." 

There was a silence. Peter's hand had closed more tightly around the emblem, but his gaze did not falter. I turned and left the Chara's quarters without a word. 

The Chara did not call me back. If he had, I would not have obeyed him.


	8. The Look of the Chara | 3

**CHAPTER THREE**

As the sun began to set that evening, I was sitting where I had been all afternoon, in the inner garden of the Chara's palace. 

Peter had once said that I must be a reincarnation of the man who named this location, because I shared that man's talent for understatement. The "garden" was a courtyard the size of a village. Peter often visited there since he was not allowed to go into the Emorian countryside. The garden had been fashioned to look like the country, with pastures and meadows and the stone walls that bound every Emorian field, but with no trees, since these are rare in Emor, though its northern dominions were heavily forested. I had come here with Peter on occasion, since I now avoided looking out of windows but was still seeking scenery that would return to me the peace of heart I had left behind in Koretia. 

I had never found that peace in the garden, nor anywhere else in the palace, save in the presence of Peter. Now, I knew, I would not even find it there. 

I sat in the corner of the garden, hidden by bushes from the lords and officials who had been drawn to this place by the golden summer sun. My eyes were closed, and my fingers ran over the emblem at the tip of my dagger hilt. I had always thought that Peter had given the dagger to me out of love, the sort of love that sometimes grows between a master and his servant. I had raged against Lord Carle because he had not shown such love to Henry, but I had never doubted that Peter felt that way toward me. Now, though, there whispered in my mind Peter's final words to me. Had he really given me my freedom out of love for his loyal subject? Or had he simply been the Chara, fulfilling his duty by selecting a servant whom he could use as an intermediary with his slaves? I had once said that Peter wore a mask; now I feared that he wore that mask even with me. 

I opened my eyes and saw that it was growing dark. The dinner hour had arrived, and as I stood up, I saw that the garden was now deserted but for two soldiers guarding a passageway running directly to the Chara's quarters. 

I did not head that way. I was not sure where I would go, but I could not face Peter while I was still unsure of what sort of man he was. Instead, I stepped onto the cobbled pavement bordering the garden and walked toward a doorway for another passage that eventually ended at the corridor leading to the Map Room. I could see the soldiers watching me and exchanging whispers. They must have been among those who had overheard my fight with Lord Carle. 

I was thinking this when I reached the doorway and nearly walked into Lord Carle. 

He was about to step out of the doorway from the narrow passage behind, and my first impression of him was that he looked like a weary veteran from the Border Wars, retreating after some great defeat. He had changed out of his ceremonial dress, and his hand touched his belt lightly, as though he missed the sword there. He stopped the moment that he saw me, and a wariness entered his eyes. He did not speak, but neither did he move, and I did not expect him to move, for we were face to face, and he was waiting for the servant to step out of the way of the council lord. 

I felt a sudden flicker of anger inside me, not only for his easy assumption of my inferiority, but also because he had been the cause of my quarrel with Peter. 

We stood a moment more as I waited for him to tell me to move away. And then – it was a sight that every servant in the palace would have paid good money to see – Lord Carle stepped aside in the doorway to allow me to pass. 

It was too late. The flicker of anger had grown into a cool blaze inside me, and I promptly moved to one side to block his way again. His lips tightened, but still he did not speak. 

"We did not finish our conversation, Lord Carle," I said with a false tone of calmness. 

Lord Carle was again silent. Then he said softly, "I do not think that you should be speaking to me." 

"I beg your pardon for addressing a council lord in such a bold manner," I said, "but as you have often told me, I have little respect for my superiors. This being the case, I demand that you explain why you said that I am disloyal to the Chara." 

Cold amusement entered into Lord Carle's eyes, though his mouth remained somber. "Loyalty is a subject I am now well acquainted with," he said, "since I have spent the past three hours with your master, listening to him explain what form he expects my loyalty to take. I must admit that I am surprised that you would pick these particular circumstances to defend to me your loyalty to the Chara. Nonetheless, since you have asked the question, I will answer it. I did not say that you were disloyal to the Chara – that is another question, for another day. What is beyond dispute is that you are a traitor to Koretia." 

He stepped past me then, and stood on the pavement beside me. I was paralyzed at his words. Further down, I could see that the soldiers, though too far away to hear our conversation, were entertained by our confrontation. 

I said, with a voice as cold as my body felt, "That should give you great joy, Lord Carle." 

"On the contrary, it lessens my respect for you. When we first met, you told me that you had made a blood vow to kill the Chara – I do not think that you have forgotten that vow, as the Chara told me a short while ago that you had revealed it to him for the first time. It is not clear to me why you felt the desire to mention this matter to him, since you are now the Chara's free-servant, are wearing the Emorian tunic he gave you, are not planning even a short trip to Koretia, and do not, as far as I know, have any plans to kill the Chara. If you were in fact contemplating some secret betrayal, I might regain the respect for you that I lost on the night when I discovered you chatting with the Chara as though he were your blood brother rather than your sworn enemy." 

Something rumbled inside me, like a small fire growing large, or a thundercloud in the moments before lightning strikes. I said, again calmly, "You will at least admit that, whatever my past loyalties, I am now loyal to the Chara." 

"I would like to think that you are. It would give me joy to think that you plan to dedicate your life to serving the Chara. Or, if this were not the case, it would at least give me some satisfaction to find that you have been secretly plotting to kill him and that you have always remained loyal to your Koretian brothers. But what I fear is that you are dedicated to no man but yourself – that you are a creature incapable of loyalty, enjoying a pleasant childhood in Koretia, and then being tempted away by the luxuries of Emor. That is not the sort of loyalty that the Chara needs." The scorn was unshielded in Lord Carle's voice now. 

I said, still keeping my voice low so that the soldiers could not hear me, "I swore an oath to be loyal to the Chara." 

"As you swore a vow to kill him. You will not need to answer to any imaginary Koretian gods for breaking your blood vow, but you _will_ have to answer to the Chara if you betray him." 

I felt a crack of lightning go through my body as the cold fire inside began to rage out of control. I made one last effort to master my anger, saying through gritted teeth, "I will never betray the Chara." 

"Your very words reveal your disloyalty. Only a few minutes ago, the Chara instructed me not to start any conversations with you, and I assume that he gave you the same command. You have already betrayed his trust by your disobedience here." 

He walked past me toward the garden, but had not yet stepped off the pavement when he whirled around at the sound of hissing metal. 

Out of the corner of my eye, I could see the soldiers frozen with their hands on their sword hilts, afraid to move forward lest they make matters worse. Lord Carle was frozen too, his gaze on the dagger that came slowly toward him. As I placed the dagger tip against his heart, his eyes rose to meet mine. I waited to see what his last words would be; I could read neither anger nor fear nor anything else in his look. 

He said, in a voice as serene as our surroundings, "I see that I am to become acquainted with a new Koretian custom, that of killing an unarmed man." 

The dagger ripped through a few threads of his tunic, then screamed and sparked as it skidded over the pavement toward the soldiers. In the moment that followed, I saw nothing except the smile beginning to form on Lord Carle's face. 

Then the soldiers raced toward me. I did not run; I was looking at Lord Carle, who was lying on the ground where I had struck him down. 

o—o—o

The following evening, the palace guards brought me, hand-bound, to see the Chara. 

Each of my two escorts had a hand clasping one of my arms in an effort to ensure that their dangerous prisoner did not escape. Their other hands held unsheathed swords, ready at a moment's notice. We marched by the doorway guards, past the doors open to receive us, and into the Map Room, dark but for a single torch whose flame wavered in the nighttime breeze. 

The Chara was leaning over the table, examining a piece of paper there; his finger-tips rested lightly on the black wood. He was facing the doors, but did not look up as we entered. The soldiers jerked to a halt, saluting their ruler with their swords, and then the senior guard announced in a loud voice, "Great Chara, we have brought the prisoner." 

Still the Chara did not look up. His face and body were hidden in shadow. In an even, ordinary voice, he said, "You may leave the prisoner here and wait outside." 

The guards released me, and after a moment their retreating steps were followed by the sound of the doors closing, and then silence. Finally the Chara looked up. He walked slowly around the table until he was standing at its side and his body was once more in the light. His face was cold and formal, and on his chest lay the Pendant of Judgment. 

"Andrew son of Gideon, free-servant of the Chara," he intoned, "you have been brought here to answer charges made against you by Carle, Lord of the Great Council. The first charge is that you did willfully and with clear understanding disobey the command of the Great Chara." 

He paused a moment, and I found that without thought I had fixed my gaze straight forward, as I did in the days when I was Lord Carle's servant. The torchlight cast dark shadows beneath the Chara's eyes so that his face appeared mask-like. 

The Chara continued, "The witness in this charge is the Chara, and I have declined to give evidence. Therefore, the charge is dismissed." 

I did not move, but stood as though my whole body were wrapped in chains. The Chara likewise was motionless as he spoke. 

"The second charge," he said, "is that you did attempt to murder without provocation the same Lord Carle. The witness in this charge is Emmett, guard of the Chara's palace, and the sentence for such a crime is mercy or branding or the high doom." He stopped, waited three heartbeats, and said, "Lord Carle has withdrawn this charge, and instead charges you with striking a nobleman without provocation. The witness in this charge is the same, and the sentence for such a crime is mercy or branding or enslavement. Do you deny the charge?" 

I had had time, shivering in the cool cells of the palace dungeon, to think what my answer would be. Carefully phrasing my words, I said, "I do not deny that I hit Lord Carle." 

The Chara was still, assessing me. After a moment he said, "Do you deny that you struck him without provocation?" 

I was silent. The gold and ruby pendant that hung around the Chara's neck shimmered in the light as his chest moved with his breathing. When he spoke again, the Chara's voice remained even and formal. "Did he provoke you?" 

Again I was silent. The Chara moved his right hand slowly to his pendant. Then, in one swift and violent motion, he tore the pendant from his neck, turning to slam it down upon the table beside him. For a minute he leaned on the table, his palms fixed flat on the surface, and I could hear his heavy breathing. Finally he turned his head, and he said in his own voice, "Andrew, I cannot require Lord Carle to give witness against himself. Will you not tell me what he said to you?" 

My tongue felt like a dead weight in my mouth; my lips could barely move. I said, "No." 

Peter looked down at the table again and closed his eyes. He brought the fingertips of one hand up against his forehead and held them there. At last he spat out softly a brief and powerful curse that I had never heard on his lips. 

He stood up, walked toward me, and passed me. There was silence behind me. Then my back stiffened as I heard him unsheathe the Sword of Vengeance. Cold metal touched me, and my bonds began to loosen as he cut them with the blade. 

He said as he did so, "If you had used that dagger against Lord Carle, then I would have executed the high doom against you with my own hands for your being such a fool as to carry a weapon when you were angry. Most men can master their bloodthirst, but you cannot, and you ought to have realized that long ago." 

I heard him sheathe the sword as he moved over to my left side. Holding the cut rope in one hand, he said softly, "But since you were wise enough to throw away the dagger, then I will admit that I believe you had every right to strike Lord Carle, if not for what he said to you, then for the shameful way he treated you during the years in which you were under his care." 

He looked at me soberly, with gentle eyes. My expression did not change, but I felt something unknot within me, as though Peter had unbound not only my hands but my heart. 

"Nevertheless—" Peter moved back to the table, tossed the rope on it, and leaned back against the wood planks, facing me. "I am the Chara. I have passed judgment before in cases like this – palace guards striking their officials and other such troubles. In many cases I have dispensed mercy, and therefore I would feel no guilt in doing so to you – if this were my case. But it is not." 

I waited. Dimly, through the open window, I could hear the tramp of soldiers patrolling the city streets. Peter folded his hands but for the index fingers and brought these to his lips. He said, "My father was of the belief – and it was a good belief – that it is dangerous for the Chara to have too much power over his immediate servants. He believed that, if a palace free-servant committed a crime, someone other than the Chara ought to pronounce judgment on the servant. Therefore, since the council takes care of its own, my father bound over to the council the right to judge and sentence prisoners who are palace free-servants. And the High Lord has appointed as the council's judge one of his lords who has shown a great interest in matters of discipline." 

This time it was Peter who waited. I said, my voice flat and dry, "Lord Carle." 

Peter spread his hands in front of him in acknowledgment of my words. "You are under Lord Carle's care, and it is he who may judge you and pass sentence. I can give him my recommendation, but he has already told me in private that he believes you require once more the discipline of slavery. He has also told me who your new master would be." 

My chest tightened, and I felt my fists begin to clench. Peter continued swiftly, "And so my clerk and I spent all of last night trying to find some way out of this problem. And I believe that, in the end, we found something a solution that will serve." 

I did not unclench my fists, but my breathing eased somewhat. The breeze from the window made the light shudder once more, and the shifting shadows revealed to me what I had not noticed before: the dark circles below the Chara's eyes. 

He said, "You are a palace free-servant; that is why you are under Lord Carle's care. But if you were under my care, I would be able to dispense the mercy I believe you deserve." He turned and pulled toward him the paper he had been reading upon my entrance. 

My fists were still clenched. I forced myself to wait two heartbeats more before I said, in a carefully neutral voice, "You wish me to be your slave once more?" 

Peter had been reaching for a pen. His head jerked up, and there was a moment's silence before he laughed and said, "I must admit that such a solution did not occur to me during my sleepless night. No, my idea is more devious. Prisoners who are palace free-servants are under Lord Carle's care, but prisoners who are palace guests are under my care. The Chara is reserved judgment in crimes involving men and women who visit the palace briefly, or men like that horrid bard Esmond, who stopped here one night during a rainstorm twenty years ago and whom we have not been able to get rid of since then. This document was prepared by my clerk – it is all clerks' language, but if you sign it, you will be resigning from the palace service and may remain here as my guest." He held out the paper and pen expectantly. 

Still I could not find a way to unclench my fists. I stayed motionless and asked, in the same flat tone as before, "And what would my duties be as a guest?" 

Peter put the paper carefully down on the table, placed the pen beside it, picked up the pen again, and stared at the quill for a second before his eyes met mine. He said simply, "To be my friend, I hope." 

During the silence that followed, his gaze dropped again, this time toward the floor. After a moment he raised his head and said in a low voice, "Andrew, my father often told me when I was a boy that it was impossible for the Chara to be friends with a free-servant or a slave. I have come to see that he is right. Neither a free-servant nor a slave-servant is someone with whom one can converse candidly, as one can with a friend. But eleven years ago, I walked out of Lord Carle's room sick with anger and filled with loneliness from the fact that I could tell no one what I was thinking. And then I met you, and you listened to my troubles and told me honestly what you thought I was like and even smiled at my joke. And since that time I have considered you my friend, though I have never told you so." 

He looked at me, and as I gazed at him I saw suddenly in him the boy-heir I had met long ago, courteous and quiet, afraid to speak openly, lest his words be used as weapons against him. He waited for me to reply. When I did not, he said in a voice even lower than before, "I do not speak my thoughts to many people – it is not wise for me to do so. Aside from you, I am candid with few men. As for you . . . Well, as far as I know, you volunteer your thoughts to no one. This too is probably wise. But if you would care to be candid with me tonight, I would very much like to know how you think of me." 

I opened my mouth finally, spoke a word that did not reach past my lips, tried again, and said, "Chara . . ." My voice trailed off, as though the formal title had dropped somewhere in the stretch of space between us, too heavy to reach the young man before me. 

When he spoke again, it was in little more than a whisper. "If you wish, you may call me Peter." 

I whirled around suddenly and walked almost blindly to a small window overlooking the southern part of the city. In the dim moonlight I could see the black mountains bordering Koretia; down below, hidden in the blackness, was the marketplace where I had revealed my blood vow against the Chara. 

When I looked to my side, I saw that Peter was standing next to me at the window, his eyes on me, and his fingers tenderly cradling the pen. My gaze fell, and I said in a quiet voice that matched his, "Peter, before I struck Lord Carle, he told me that I was a traitor to my people. He said I had broken my vow of loyalty to Koretia, for I had sworn when I first met him that I would never become Emorian and that my blood was dedicated to the slaying of the Chara. He pointed out that I now wore Emorian clothes, that I was free-servant to the Chara himself, and that I had no plans to return to my homeland. He said that the luxuries of my life here had led me to forswear my duty to my Koretian brothers." 

My eyes were still cast down; I could see Peter's hand clenched about the pen, as though he were holding a weapon. I looked up and gazed into the Chara's eyes. "It is true, what Lord Carle said, that I have broken my vow and that I am a traitor to my people. But I did not do this for love of the riches here. I did it for love of the Chara, whom I never considered my friend, because I dared not aspire that high." 

Peter's eyes remained solemn, but the corners of his mouth crooked upwards into a slight smile. He took a step forward and held out the pen toward me. "Dare." 

Slowly I reached toward the pen. As I took it from him, I felt for a moment his wrist beating against mine, blood next to blood. Then his hand dropped for a moment, and when it rose again, it made a gesture I had not seen him make since his enthronement, a gesture that no Chara had ever made, because the Chara has no equals: he touched his heart and his forehead. 

I returned to him the greeting, and then walked over to the table to sign the paper.


	9. Land of the Jackal | 1

**_Blood Vow_ 4**   
**LAND OF THE JACKAL**   


**CHAPTER ONE**

Late-afternoon light landed on the trees above us and then stole its way slyly through the translucent skin of the leaves to dapple our path, gold on brown. I raised my head to look at the cloudless sky peering at us through the leaves, and to feel upon my face the moist stroke of the sun-heated air. It was warmer than any fire I could remember sitting next to during my fifteen years in Emor. 

As I lowered my head again, I saw that Lord Carle was watching me with narrowed eyes. We were riding along the Koretian forest path three abreast, with Peter in the middle; the Chara had shown his usual formal courtesy in acting as though he welcomed equally the company of both of us. By the rules of rank, I should have been riding behind with the servants, leaving the noblemen to talk together, but Peter had insisted on having me by his side during most of our fortnight-long journey, and Lord Dean, I could guess, was willing to take advantage of the time in order to glean bits of gossip from the servants that he could later use to his advantage. 

Lord Carle paused from his persistent watch of me only in order to answer a question I had not heard Peter ask. The council lord said, "If I needed one word to describe the nature of this land, it would be blood. All of the oaths in this land are sworn on blood, the gods of this land can only be placated through the blood of animals – and frequently that of humans as well – and the traditional form of Koretian justice, if I may call it that, is the blood feud. It says something about Koretia that its most famous institution is ritualized murder." 

I opened my mouth and closed it again, but Peter caught the motion out of the corner of his eye, and he pulled back on his horse's reins so that we were moving at a less rapid pace than before. He had driven the six of us to travel at a rate which Lord Carle had complained was faster than that of the Chara's vanguard, but now we were approaching the capital city, and Peter's anxious look was beginning to ease. 

"What would you say, Andrew?" he asked. "Is Koretia founded on blood, as Lord Carle says?" 

"I think that Lord Carle has noticed Koretia's outward rituals without understanding their inward significance," I said, carefully phrasing my words so that the council lord could not accuse me of insulting him. "Blood is a sign of sacrifice in Koretia. The Koretian people believe that loyalty to the gods must be shown through offerings of sacrifice. It is true, as Lord Carle says, that the blood feud was used as a form of justice in the old days, but it was not considered a form of private justice, a way to achieve vengeance on one's own behalf. Rather, it was a way to avenge deeds that broke the commands of the gods." 

"That hardly reassures me," said Lord Carle, and then paused momentarily to swat a small butterfly that had taken his green and gold tunic to be a flower. Probably, I thought, struggling to remain just toward Lord Carle, he had mistaken the butterfly for one of the Koretian blood-flies that had been feasting upon us since we crossed the black border mountains. 

"The bloodthirstiness of this land's gods is a model that I imagine the Koretians strive to imitate," continued Lord Carle. "Take this man, the Jackal. He first appeared during that blood feud to end all blood feuds, the Koretian civil war. I don't suppose that he could have chosen a more fitting moment to make his entrance, considering all the times since then that he has slaked his thirst on the blood of men. He has certainly fashioned himself after your god." 

I pulled my horse's reins tight – I think that it was only a reflex action, but once I had done so, I discovered that my horse was standing still, and both Lord Carle and Peter were watching me. The Chara was unconsciously stroking his horse's mane, reassuring it as to our sudden delay, and at sight of Peter's characteristically gentle and affectionate action, I felt my resentment flame within me at Lord Carle's typical harshness. "They are not my gods, Lord Carle," I said. "I wish that you would remember that." 

"Yes," said Peter, looking toward the council lord in a pointed manner. "I too wish that you would remember that, Lord Carle. Whatever point you have been trying to make during this trip, I think you can assume that you have long since made it. I am growing weary of hearing you sing the same stale tune." 

Lord Carle kept his gaze fixed on me rather than Peter, but he said with that overcourteous formality which I knew drove Peter mad, "I will endeavor to serve you better in the future, Cha— Lord Peter. Is it the Cha— Is it your wish that we stay in the governor's palace tonight?" 

I could see Peter biting away a smile at Lord Carle's fumbled speech. If there was one form of loyalty that Lord Carle had never managed to achieve toward his master, it was in following Peter's frequently expressed desire that his council lords not treat him with strict formality during his leisure hours. I suspected that Lord Carle's unusually bad temper during this trip came, not only from his hatred of Koretia and of me, but also from his frustration at Peter's command that Lord Carle address him at all times by his childhood title. 

"Why do you ask, Lord Carle?" replied Peter. 

"Because we may have to return to our old speed if we are to reach the city by nightfall," said Lord Carle. "This road meanders quite a bit before it reaches the western gates." 

This was, I thought, one of Lord Carle's milder statements during the trip. Koretia being the smallest of the Three Lands, it took travellers merely two weeks to journey between the Emorian capital and the Koretian capital at the southern tip of this land. Or rather, it would have taken two weeks if the Koretians had built straight, paved roads the way the Emorians did. As it was, only the Chara's lightning-swift messenger journeyed between the capitals in that amount of time. Ordinary travellers took a month or more, held back by mud and muck, deep cart-ruts that threatened to trip their horses and mules, bridges that were inevitably broken, roads that zig-zagged back and forth for obscure religious reasons or simply because it suited the fancy of the road-builder, and, of course, the Koretians' unique method of collecting tolls. 

To prevent Lord Carle on offering further comment on this, I said, "You appear to know a great deal about Koretia." 

Lord Carle's gaze drifted over my way once more and remained fixed on me as he said blandly, "It is always wise to know one's enemy." 

I was saved from making a reply by the appearance of Lord Dean, who, seeing us halted in the road, had ridden ahead of Curtis and Francis. Peter, glancing his way, started his horse forward again, but the imperturbable High Lord took this as a sign of encouragement and continued toward us. I quickly pulled back behind the others in order to allow Lord Dean his place beside the Chara. 

"I hate to admit it, Lord Carle," Peter was saying, "but I have reached the conclusion that you are right about this land, at least as far as the weather is concerned. After two weeks' worth of hot and dusty travel, I am ready to hand my office over to any man who can give me a few days' worth of Emorian coolness." 

"Well, it has allowed for a quick journey," said Lord Dean cheerfully. "At least we haven't had to endure any rain." 

Lord Carle glanced over his shoulder to where I was riding, a few paces behind Lord Dean. Our eyes met, and I knew that, for once, our thoughts were in sympathy. 

Peter, who always caught small gestures in a conversation, asked, "Is the lack of rain a problem?" 

"Only because this is a land whose weapon of war is fire," replied Lord Carle. 

"Why, we all know that," said Lord Dean. "That's what allowed us to win the Border Wars; the Chara Nicholas was able to turn the Koretians' weapon against them." 

Lord Carle said, "Even the Koretians, High Lord, would hesitate to use their favorite weapon during a summer like this." 

"Why is that?" asked Peter quietly. I could tell from his tone that he had already guessed Lord Carle's warning, but as always, he preferred to hear other men explain matters in which they had expertise rather than offer comment himself. 

Lord Carle looked back at me again. "Perhaps Andrew could give you part of the answer by explaining why all of the towns we have visited have moats surrounding them." 

"I had assumed that they were there to protect against invaders," said Peter, looking at me inquiringly. 

I shook my head. "Until the civil war, it had been several centuries since any large-scale warfare took place in Koretia. Koretians usually fight through blood feuds, which involves one-on-one combat, rather than through the large battles favored by Emorians. That was why they were so ill-prepared to fight the Emorians. Though the Koretians had an army, they were inexperienced in mass slaughter." 

"They seem to have successfully overcome their inexperience and gentleness in the case of the borderland villagers," Lord Carle commented dryly. 

"So why do the towns have moats?" asked Peter, cutting off Lord Carle's further words on the subject. 

I said, "It is only in the towns and the city that large fights sometimes break out – riots that are sparked when anything causes the inhabitants to quarrel especially hard. In the old days, it was blood feuds that caused the riots, but these days I imagine it is the Emorian rule. You know how the Koretians use fire in these riots, lighting them when there is no wind in order to burn a particular section of the city. But sometimes the wind springs up suddenly, and when that happens, the fires spread out of control, and the entire town may go up in flames. The moats are there to keep the surrounding countryside from catching on fire. There was one particularly bad fire five centuries ago, before the moats were built. It was a windy day, and the summer was dry like this one. The fire ended up burning half of Koretia before it was finally contained by a thunderstorm." 

"Well, but now that Koretia has moats—" Peter stopped himself in mid-sentence. 

"That is exactly the point," said Lord Carle grimly. "The Koretian capital does _not_ have a moat – not since Lord Alan decided to turn the old moat into a flower garden to impress visiting noblemen." 

This time it was Lord Dean who cut off Lord Carle's comments. He said smoothly, "I will save you, Lord Peter, from hearing the remaining text of Lord Carle's elegant and vitriolic speech about how the moat ought to have been retained to protect against future treachery by the Koretians. I and the other members of the council heard half a dozen versions of the speech when we debated the matter ten years ago. The rest of us, however, believed that the city wall was protection enough, should war break out again." 

"I wish that you had consulted me on the matter," said Peter. "It touches upon matters of war, which are my province." 

"You may recall, Lord Peter, that, with your permission, we consulted with Subcommander Rudolph," said Lord Dean. "He was not in the city at the time of the invasion, of course, since he was leading the northern campaign, but you yourself had been sent back to Daxis by your father. I do not know of any high-ranking Emorian official, other than the Chara Nicholas, who was in the city during the fire." 

There was the pause of a heartbeat; then the three noblemen simultaneously looked back at me. "Well?" said Peter. 

I shook my head. "I'm afraid that Lord Carle is right. The capital has an inner ditch, but the flames were leaping beyond that and the wall when I was taken from the city. If the moat hadn't been there, the fire would have spread to the countryside." 

"Let this moment be recorded for future generations," said Lord Carle. "Andrew has actually admitted that I am right. I never thought that the day would come." 

"I suppose," said Peter, "that we can be glad that there has been no wind recently. If this remains true— Hold a minute. Which path do we take?" 

We halted our horses again, and this time Curtis and Francis were close enough behind us that they soon reached the branching of the path as well. The six of us stared at where the tree-arched forest path forked, with no sign as to which was the main stream of the road and which was the tributary. 

"I don't recall this on our maps," said Peter. "Andrew, which way do we go from here?" 

A small black carving, nearly invisible against the dark trunk of the tree to which it was attached, had caught my eye. I slid out of my saddle and went over to the side of the road to touch it with my fingers. At the moment that I did so, I felt memories cut into me like the slice of a blade. 

It took me a moment to catch my breath and answer the question that Peter had asked in the meantime. "Yes, it's a carving of a god-mask. This path leads up Capital Mountain to the priests' house." 

"Which god is it?" asked Lord Dean pleasantly. He had been doing his best during the trip to catch up with Lord Carle in his knowledge of Koretia. 

I remained where I was, touching the side of the small wooden mask, whose face was stained entirely black. "It isn't one of the seven gods. It's the mask of the Unknowable God, who symbolizes any god who is not yet known to the worshipper. Some priests think that all of the gods are just different faces of the Unknowable God." 

"He is not a god who is directly worshipped by the Koretians," added Lord Carle. "We may thank the wisdom of the Charas that we do not have _eight_ dagger-wielding Koretian gods to contend with." 

I said nothing more, but my gaze drifted toward the side path, where the mountain began climbing steeply above the main road. Somewhere up there was a building I had once known very well, though it was no longer inhabited by the one person in this land whom I would have liked to have seen during this lonely homecoming. I wondered whether, in his new home, John had finally learned who his god was. 

I did not realize that Peter had slipped down from his horse until I heard him murmur in my ear, "Shall we go there?" 

I looked over at him, and though I spoke no reply, he must have read the thought in my eyes, for he swung around and said to the others, "Well, we're here to uncover information about the Jackal, are we not? What better place to start at than with the priests? From what Andrew has told me in the past, they take guests overnight. I suggest that we stay there tonight rather than risk still being on this road after nightfall." 

Lord Dean looked uneasily at the main path ahead of us. Only twice before had we been caught on the road after dark, and on both occasions we had met bandits who wished to exact "toll" from us. Though Lord Carle had grumbled that this was the sort of encounter we might have expected in a land watched over by a thief god, he and the other armed free-men appeared to enjoy the opportunity to use their blades in defense. Lord Carle, it had transpired to no one's surprise, was the most skilled and ruthless bladesman of the five, yet Peter had shown himself surprisingly dexterous, despite the fact that he had received little training in blade-play. 

I had stood to the side and watched, secure from harm by the thieves since I bore no weapon. 

"I would rather that we were safely inside the governor's palace tonight," Lord Dean said, "but you may be right, Lord Peter. What do you think, Carle?" 

"I think that it is the Cha— It is Lord Peter's decision to make," said Lord Carle. Then he added, to my surprise, "I can imagine that after ten years of imprisonment in his palace, he might wish another night free before he enters the imprisonment of the governor's palace." 

Peter smiled easily at Lord Carle as he pulled himself back onto his horse. "Then we're decided. One more night of play before we all set about doing difficult and possibly dangerous work." 

"Dangerous?" Lord Dean gave a short laugh as we started forward. "I doubt that we need worry about the Jackal showing up at the governor's palace. No, the worst that we have to fear is that we will all die of heat-stroke. . . ." 

I did not hear the rest of what he said; I had allowed my horse to fall back until I was halfway between the noblemen and the servants. I did not try to join Curtis and Francis, whom I could hear discussing a free-woman that they had both taken a fancy to. I had long since resigned myself to the fact that I would never be fully accepted by the noblemen or by the slaves or even by the lesser free-men whose rank I officially shared. My leaps downward and upward through the ranks had left me dizzy with uncertainty. Only when I was alone with Peter did I lose all interest in whether I was slave or free-man, Emorian or Koretian, for Peter had always treated me as his loyal friend, no matter which identity I took on. 

In this respect, of course, Peter could not have differed more greatly from my previous master. When I was sure that he was not looking my way, I stole a look at Lord Carle's proud, harsh face. In the twelve years since Peter had taken me out of the council lord's care, Lord Carle had never ceased to torment me. Time after time, he had questioned my loyalty, reminded me of what he had made me into when he first bought me. Worst of all, he had repeatedly attempted to persuade Peter to break his friendship with me. 

The last action was so futile that I wondered that he even tried it. It was true that Peter was forced to see a great deal of Lord Carle: my former master was one of the leading senior council lords and moreover had been Peter's tutor during the months preceding Peter's enthronement. Biased as I was, even I knew that Lord Carle had great learning in the law and was a valuable member of the Great Council. But this could not balance for me the evidence I had encountered over the years of Peter's suffering in Lord Carle's hands: Peter showing forced cheerfulness after Lord Carle's frequent and lengthy visits to the Chara's quarters. (Peter, mindful of my feelings, always sent me away during these sessions.) Peter growing silent whenever I referred to Lord Carle, though he had told me at length what he thought of the other council lords. And on a couple of terrible occasions during his time as Lord Carle's student, Peter breaking down into sobs after Lord Carle had disciplined him. 

It was this, as much as my own experience under Lord Carle's care, that had caused me to try to kill the council lord. Only later had I realized that I had brought further trouble to Peter by my actions. Since the trial, I had tried, without much success, to contain my bloodthirst toward Lord Carle, but my anger rose whenever I saw how oblivious Lord Carle was to his true nature. He was widely known as the cruelest master in the palace, yet he spoke with pride about his training of his servants. Though my only release from his torments could have been to escape his presence, he continued to hold me captive in conversation with such regularity that it was clear that he thought I welcomed the attention. And though it must have been obvious to him how little Peter cared for him, he always appeared at the Chara's door casually and unbidden, as though sure of his welcome. 

I could be certain that Peter had done his best to rid himself of Lord Carle. Several times I had overheard Peter coolly addressing the council lord by his name alone, as though to remind him that his title had been given to him as an honor by the Chara. Lord Carle had a mind more keen and cunning than even Lord Dean's, yet he appeared to have no awareness that other people in the world might think less of him than he did of himself. 

Now, as we made our way up the steep mountain path toward the building I was beginning to glimpse through the trees, Lord Carle fell back alongside me, and I realized with horror that he was about to give me one of his lectures. He inflicted these on me from time to time, always using the same gentle voice he used toward Peter, in an attempt to lull me into thinking that he was no longer my enemy. He appeared to have a talent for knowing the exact moment at which I was beginning to lower my guard, and to use that moment in which to attack me. If I had been Peter, I would have long since removed this malevolent lord from his council chair – but of course Lord Carle, like all of the other council lords, was awarded his office until death or until he was charged with a crime. There were times when I almost wished that Lord Carle would murder me, just so that he could be summoned for the deed, and Peter would have a way to rid himself of the lord. 

"Tell me, Andrew," said Lord Carle in his deceptively mild voice, "do you have any blood kin in this land?" 

"No," I said shortly. I cast my gaze toward Peter, who was looking back anxiously toward us, but Lord Dean had him well trapped in conversation. 

"None at all? Nobody who might remember a blood vow that you once made?" 

"No." I kept my voice low, trying to determine where the conversation was headed. If Lord Carle had been less skilled at inflicting wounds, I would have assumed that he thought I might be swayed by the sight of my blood kin to keep my vow, but Lord Carle's mind was too subtle for him to make the obvious accusation. 

"You are fortunate, then." 

I looked over at Lord Carle, startled, then saw him looking levelly at me and understood. He would not attack me directly, not after what Peter had said. Instead, he would attack the Koretians and wait for me to fly to their defense. 

It was likely that he would succeed. I would have defended even the High Lord if I had witnessed him being attacked by Lord Carle. 

"Lord Carle," I said, "you seem to have devoted the past fifteen years to discovering the most unpleasant aspects of Koretian life." 

"Don't flatter yourself," replied Lord Carle curtly. "It has been a good many years since I first had the unhappy experience of learning what the Koretians' penalty was for breaking a blood vow to murder." He steered his horse around a tiny sapling that had taken root in the dirt path, and then, with one vicious yank, pulled the tree from the ground and flung it into the undergrowth. He continued calmly, as though the violent abortion had not taken place, "Because of Emorian law, the blood feuds are now outlawed in this land, and because of the Emorian courts, there is no need for the feuds. Therefore, you have the Chara to thank that you will not enter the city tomorrow with your life forfeit." 

I wrapped my hands around the reins of my horse in order to resist an impulse to strangle Lord Carle. "You know a great deal about Koretian life, Lord Carle, but your knowledge has certain gaps. I made my vow as part of a vow of friendship, and that vow of loyalty supersedes any other vows I made as well. Even if my blood brother were alive today, even if he hated me for breaking my vow, he would still be sworn to prevent harm from falling upon me." 

"Koretian blood vows do have certain subtle loopholes," admitted Lord Carle. "In the last case I knew of this kind, the oath-breaker in question was hunted down and murdered by his own kin. I am relieved to hear that I do not have to worry about the same fate overtaking you." 

I stared at the coarse hair of my horse's mane, hating Lord Carle for his ability to take words that appeared kind on the surface and twist them into weapons of torture. Still following his unspoken and evil pleasure, I defended my native land by saying, "He was probably killed because his kin thought him god-cursed for breaking his vow. But there have always been Koretians who understood that men break vows for good reasons as well as bad ones, and that it is possible to break a vow and still remain loyal to the gods. If the gods exist—" 

I hesitated. We had reached the top of the path and before us spread the stony face of the priests' house. I said rapidly, "If there are such beings as the Koretian gods, I think that they understand why I broke my old vow and made my new one. Loyalty is something which I was taught that the gods understand." 

"Oh, yes, I am sure that you were taught about loyalty," said Lord Carle, his gaze now on Peter, who was about to reach the main door to the priests' house. "The Koretian concept of loyalty is a peculiar one, though. The murderers of that oath-breaker no doubt thought that they were being loyal to the gods in doing what they did. They had no law to tell them otherwise – nothing unchanging and concrete, which stays the same from century to century. There is no question of what it means to be loyal to the Chara; if you have any doubts on the matter, you may consult the law book that describes the crime of disobedience to the Chara. But here we are in a land with no native law of its own, whose people have always depended on the whims of passion to decide their loyalties . . . or else have followed the commands of enigmatic and irrational gods. I hope that you do not allow this visit to confuse your carefully acquired Emorian sensibilities as to the proper definition of loyalty." 

I did not reply to Lord Carle's abrasive advice. I had slid from my horse and was looking down the mountainside toward a bit of slope that led to a cave. Fifteen summers ago, I had stood at the mouth of that cave, torn between going toward Peter or fleeing with John. Now there was no question of where my loyalties lay, and none of Lord Carle's dark insults would change that. All they could do, and did, was bring back the pain I had felt in making my choice. 

"Are you coming?" It was Peter, standing quietly beside me. I saw that the others were now waiting for us beside the door. 

Our eyes linked together in their old manner, and I was suddenly glad that I had come on this trip. No doubt I would encounter further pain from my memories here, but I would have felt greater pain in being parted from Peter during these weeks. 

"Gladly," I said, and led my horse up to the wooden doors of the priests' house. This time, I placed myself firmly behind Peter and beside the servants whose rank I was assuming. Curtis and Francis moved over to make room for me, but otherwise made no gesture of welcome. 

Lord Carle, who was energetic in all tasks he undertook, raised his fist to give the door a knock that would undoubtedly have reverberated through every corner of the building. At that moment, however, the door opened and a priest emerged. 

He was wearing the woolen brown robe of his office, and his hood was flung over his head – this, plus the pack over his shoulder, told me that he was on his way out to minister to the sick or the dying. I could not see his face from where I was, but from the way he came to a halt suddenly, it was clear that he was not expecting to meet six Emorian travellers at his doorstep. 

He recovered himself quickly, though, and said softly, "I beg that you impart to me your names." 

In his best Koretian – which had improved considerably from practice during our trip – the Chara said, "I am Peter, Lord, through the Chara's honor. These men are Lord Carle and Lord Dean of the Great Council of Emor. We and our free-servants were wondering whether you might have room to allow us to stay the night. We would be glad, of course, to give an offering to your gods for this favor." 

The priest swung his head around, perhaps trying to assess from our appearances how great an offering he could hope from us. As he did so, his hooded face came into my view. He was dark in complexion – after several weeks back in Koretia, I still had not accustomed myself to being surrounded by dark-skinned people – and his brows were straight and serious, as befitted a man who had dedicated himself to serving the gods. He had a man's short hair and a man's beard, but he was young, about Peter's age. A white scar upon the left side of his face suggested that his entire life had not been dedicated to acts of worship. His eyes were the color of the midnight sky. 

I took a step forward, and as he turned to look at me, the hood fell back. I was by the Chara's side now, but barely aware that Peter was also looking at me. I felt fifteen years falling away from me until there was nothing left but a single word that welled up inside me and then slipped out of my mouth in a whisper. 

"John." 

o—o—o

In the silence that followed, John looked back at me without expression. I had a sudden vision of what I must look like to him: a beardless man in an Emorian tunic, travelling with Emorian noblemen and speaking in an accent which sounded very Koretian to the Emorians but which, I had learned during this trip, sounded equally Emorian to the Koretians. I was dark-skinned, certainly, but so were many Emorians who lived near the border, just as there were light-skinned Koretians. There was nothing about me to show I had ever lived anywhere but Emor. 

John had been right as a boy, I saw. We had met again, and one of us did not recognize the other. 

At that moment, another priest came out and gestured toward John. John looked back at him, but did not speak. Instead, he re-entered the house. 

I stood motionless as Peter introduced his party once more to the new priest. The priest, with a minimum of words, welcomed us to the refuge of the gods and asked us to pray for this house's peace during our stay. Then, as other priests came forward to take our horses, he escorted us into the building. 

The priests' house was just as I remembered it: windowless, hot, and silent. Hanging on the walls were lighted torches that sent smoke puffing up to linger in the corridor. Amidst the torches hung the painted masks of the gods: the Moon, the Sun, the Raven, the Owl, the Cat, the Jackal, and the Fish. Each mask was the shape of an inverted triangle with convex sides – I remembered my delight when John had revealed after a geography lesson from Lovell that Koretia was the same shape as a god's mask. Each mask contained the eyeholes that had once revealed the eyes of the priests who wore the masks. The eyeholes were empty now. 

We were led to an area of the house I had never seen before, and Peter and I were shown into a small priests' cell containing little more than some lighted candles and two thin reed pallets on the floor. Peter placed his bag near the door and went over to look at the mask hanging on the wall. The stiff cloth was painted black but for the features of the face, which stood out starkly: slanted golden eyes surrounding the eyeholes, golden whiskers as thin and sleek as knife blades on edge, and a silver and jagged-toothed mouth that was turned up in something between a grin and a snarl. 

"The Jackal," I said. "Not the best start to our visit here, that the priest would place us under that god's protection." 

Peter reached out to touch the mask gently. "So he is alive," he said. 

I did not bother to ask who he meant. "Yes." 

"Did he recognize you?" 

"I don't think so." 

Peter held his fingers to the mask a moment more, as though communicating with it. Then he turned and said, "Go find him. I'll invite Lord Carle to come and bore me with his opinion of the Koretians. Perhaps that will put him in a pleasant mood." 

I smiled faintly, but said nothing more as I left the room. 

The narrow corridors were filled with torch-smoke and masks. I could see no priests. None of the wooden doors were labelled or open, and I knew that I would no longer be able to find John where he had once lived, in the orphan boys' dormitory. Finally I sighted a door that was ajar; a chorus of voices and some fragrant smoke whispered through the doorway. Hesitantly, I slipped through the door. 

I found myself in the priests' sanctuary, a large, square hall that was filled with brown-robed men. They took no notice of my entrance. Their attention was focused on the central dais, where one of their members stood next to a stone altar; with curved dagger in hand, he was poised to strike a goat that lay bleating and bound in preparation for the sacrifice. 

I froze, not daring to move during this sacred moment. The area above the altar was open to the sky in order to let out the fire from the sacrificial flame that would soon be lit. One thin rod lay over the opening, and from this branch dangled a mask, but the sunlight above was so bright that I could not see which god was being prayed to. 

Already, I knew, I had missed most of the rite. In the Invocation of the God, the god had been called down. In the Plea to the God, the god's assistance had been sought. In the God's Announcement, the priest, speaking for the god, told what he wished as his sacrifice, and the goat had been lured into the sanctuary – only willing victims could be sacrificed to the god. In the Offering to the God, two priests had given their witness as to why the goat should or shouldn't be sacrificed as a symbol of those present. Now all that remained was the God's Decision. 

The priest, speaking for the god, spoke the word of the god's decision. The dagger plunged down, the goat screamed in pain and fear, and then the priest raised the bloody blade toward the mask to show the god that the celebrant had honored his priestly vow and made the sacrifice that the god demanded in exchange for bringing peace to the land. 

I had not been a pious child, and had rarely come with John to these ceremonies, but I found myself wondering what sort of blasphemy I was committing, that I should stand here in my Emorian clothes, watching rites made to a Koretian god. If John saw me from where he was standing, I thought, he must be horrified at the presence here of a man who was Emorian, yet not even wholly Emorian. As I felt the dark pain inside me grow, I wished to myself that a god, whether Koretian or Emorian or from some unknown land, would speak to me and tell me what sacrifice I should make in exchange for peace to my heart. 

As the priests began to stir, their most sacred moment complete, I slipped out of the door and began retracing my path to the Chara's cell.


	10. Land of the Jackal | 2

**CHAPTER TWO**

In my haste to find John, I had forgotten one important fact about the priests' house: every room inside that building looked the same. Every windowless corridor was dark with torch-smoke; every featureless door was made of the same iron-bound oak planks. I wandered up and down the labyrinthine house without direction, unwilling to knock on any doors and ask directions. Once I passed a priest, but his head was bowed and his face hidden in the shadow of his hood, and I could not be sure whether he was absorbed in prayer or merely trying to ignore the foreign intruder near him. So I remained silent until, with much relief, I saw an open door. Composing in my mind an excuse to Peter for my quick return, I entered the cell and found myself facing John. 

He was just rising from beside his pack, which lay on a pallet to the right of the door. The room was nearly identical to the one I shared with Peter; even the god-mask was the same. John's hood was tossed back, and he stared silently at me for a moment. I supposed that he was waiting for me to explain my entrance. Then he moved forward a few steps, stretched out his arm, and pulled back his sleeve to show the white scar that ran down his dark skin. 

I raised my own arm, and for a moment our wrists hovered next to each other, the two scars from one dagger joined once more. Then one of us moved, I am not sure which, and we embraced. 

I had shown no emotion when I was beaten, nor even when the men came to geld me, but now I wept. 

We might have stayed in that embrace all day except that the sound of men's voices in the corridor interrupted us. Pulling away, John shut the door; then he turned to me, his face shining with joy and contentment. 

"God of Mercy, you've scarcely changed!" he said with a laugh. "It's something about your lack of a beard; it makes you look like a boy still." Then, before I could think how to answer this observation, he handed me the face-cloth in his hand. "I was taking that cloth out for myself. I waited for you here because I didn't want to cry like a babe in front of noblemen. I knew that you would find me." 

I passed the cloth over my face and took a deep, shuddering breath in an attempt to steady myself. "I would have come looking for you long ago if I had known that you were here. I thought that you had been killed." 

He touched the scar on his face briefly. "I was lucky. I arose to my senses before the fire reached me and was able to find refuge in this house during what followed." He hesitated, as though picking his next words carefully. "I knew somehow that you hadn't been killed. I thought perhaps that you must have been enslaved." 

"I was." I crumpled the cloth in my hand, waiting for the next question. 

John said slowly, "And are you still a slave?" 

Like the reverberating jolt of a prison door slamming shut, the mask I had worn for the past fifteen years returned to my face. I knew this, not only because I could feel it, but because I could see the shock on John's face as he witnessed the disappearance of the only face he had seen me wear in the time that he had known me. To him, it must have seemed as though I had been suddenly killed, and a stranger had usurped my place. 

I knew then what I had tried to hide from myself during the trip: that the boy I had once been was gone forever. Whatever John had been expecting to find, I could no longer give him. 

John had hidden his shock immediately; he was now waiting quietly for my reply. Beyond him, I could see the slanted eyes of the Jackal staring at me. I took a step backwards, which brought me up against the table behind me. Placing my hands behind me as though they were bound, I said in the cool, hard voice that John had never heard, "My master freed me many years ago. I stayed with him as his free-servant. My mother was dead and I thought you were dead and . . . I had certain ties in Emor. So I became an Emorian. And I broke the blood vow I made to you and the Jackal." 

Two pairs of eyes looked upon me: the golden hunting eyes of the thief god and the dark, dispassionate eyes of John. I could see reflected in John's eyes the golden flame of a candle as he stared at me without blinking. Finally he said, "Some vows are the type that the god would not want us to keep. I have visited Emor; it is a beautiful land, with people who are capable of great honor and sacrifice. I can see why you grew to love your new home, and I do not believe that you have broken your vow to me in any way." 

The relief that flooded over me was like fresh water on a dry day. It was not simply his words that were merciful. It was the fact that he had bothered to say them. Unspoken was his second message: he was willing to accept me – this strange, cold man – as the blood brother to whom he had pledged himself as a child. 

Too grateful to John to know what to say, I remarked lightly, "I didn't know that the priests at this house were allowed to travel." 

"They aren't – but I'm not a priest. I'm a trader." 

"A _trader_?" 

My voice lost its customary evenness, and John laughed, breaking the tension. "You needn't act so surprised," he said. "I'm not the first boy to entertain himself with lofty ambitions of becoming a voice for the god, only to spend his days as a man arguing whether two geese are a fair bargain for three hens. I enjoy being able to travel, and it gives me the opportunity to meet new people. But sometimes I feel the need to come back here and offer up prayer and sacrifice to the god." 

"Which god do you pray to?" I asked curiously. My hand was touching something on the table, and I looked down to see what it was. A book lay among several that John must have brought with him, and it was open to a picture of the seven god-masks. 

John waited until I had looked up again before saying, "Any god who will speak to me. When the god sends his peace, it doesn't matter to me which mask he wears." 

The sound of the men's voices had long since faded, to be replaced by something deeper and more solid: a silence as naked and precise as an unsheathed sword. As a boy I had thought of the silence here as a mere absence of sound and had scorned its comfort. Now I saw that the god's peace was gentle and soothing only in the same way that John himself was: underneath the tranquility was something firm and distinctly delineated. I breathed in and felt the sound of my breath break the silence like the warm moisture of breath breaking the crisp coldness of winter. 

I said, "You're fortunate to have such security to turn toward. I wish that the Jackal had been able to help me during my early years in Emor. Are you here now to seek the god's help with any trouble in your life?" 

John swung away, and for a moment I thought I had offended him with the directness of my question. Then he walked over to the mask. He placed his left hand upon the stiff black cloth, touched the mask briefly like a man touching his beloved on the cheek. As he let his hand fall, he said, "I suppose that the gods always bring peace to those who pray to them, but their ways are mysterious to men and often seem senseless. I hope there's meaning to what they do, for I came here to pray, not for my own peace, but Koretia's. Things are very bad here." He turned back. 

"I know," I said quietly. "That is why my master and the other lords have come to Koretia. Though you may not believe it, we Emorians are seeking peace as well." 

I had phrased my last sentence deliberately, to gauge his reaction. He replied with ease, "I believe it. On my visit to Emor, I visited some of the borderland villages, and I heard what the Koretians had done to the villagers there at the beginning of the Border Wars. It seemed to me then that the Chara had shown mercy by enslaving us rather than destroying us for our deeds. But that was long ago, and people here are growing restless in their bonds. It is as though they are just waiting for a sign before they rise up against the Emorians." 

"A sign from the Jackal?" My eye caught sight of the mask once more; the painted curves danced in the candlelight. "My master tells me the thieves have been busy." 

John shook his head and sank to his knees beside his pack. "I don't know what the spark will be. But if the city goes up in flames again, whether it be months from now or days from now, neither the Jackal nor any other god will be able to bring this land its peace. After fifteen years in captivity, the people here are becoming set in their opinions as to whether the Emorian rule is a good thing. Everyone has been forced to take sides, and this has caused brother to turn against brother." 

I said nothing for a minute, watching him pull from the pack some clothes, a few items of food, and the type of satchel in which traders carry their documents. I said, "I think I know, without asking, which side my blood brother has taken." 

John smiled again. "I'm on the side of peace. I don't see any way to have peace without gaining our freedom, but while it's easier to kill an Emorian than to talk with him, I think it's less likely to bring peace in the end." 

"We wanted to become the Jackal's thieves at one time." 

"You wanted it. I wasn't sure whether it was right to kill a man. I'm still not sure." 

He began to open the satchel, and then closed it again and rested his hand on the worn leather, not looking my way. I said softly, "You were there with a dagger when I needed you. You are a peacemaker, but you are not a coward." 

"Thank you." John's voice was as faint as though he spoke from a great distance. Without looking up, he said, "I had planned to leave tonight; I have important business in one of the towns. But now you are here, and I confess that I'm also curious to see what Emorian noblemen are like. Do you think that your master would be willing to exchange a few words with me?" 

"I've told him about you," I replied. "He will want to exchange more than a few words with my blood brother." 

John knelt back on his haunches and tilted his head up. His hair fell over his eyes, shading them like shutters on a window. "If you stayed with your master after he freed you, he must be a good man." 

"He is—" My throat closed before I could finish. "He's hard to describe. You'll have to judge him for yourself." 

John continued to look at me, as though waiting for me to say more. When I remained silent, he rose to his feet and said, "I must go request permission to stay here one more night; then I'll come by to see you. I have—" There was a pause, during which I drunk in once more the sight of John's still, serene face, sometimes smiling, sometimes serious, but always full of peace. Finally he said softly, "I have very much missed you. If your master will allow you the freedom, I would like us to spend some time together during your visit to Koretia." 

"Whether he allows me to or not," I said, "you may be sure that we will." 

o—o—o

I returned to the Chara's room and found Lord Carle there, trying on the Jackal's mask. 

I stopped just outside the doorway. Around the corner to my left, I could hear Peter protesting mildly, "Carle, if you wish to be blasphemous, please wait until we return home. I don't want for you to be dragged away some night by the Jackal's thieves because you've offended their god." 

"I am being but a loyal Emorian by committing blasphemy to a Koretian god," said Lord Carle, pulling off the mask. "And there are no Koretians here to take note – unless, of course, Andrew is preparing his report for the Jackal now." 

I stepped into the room and said coolly, "I am Emorian." 

"That statement was implausible in Emor and is ridiculous here. Have you had your joyous reunion with your Koretian blood brother?" Lord Carle tossed the mask face-down onto the pallet beside him. 

"Lord Carle," warned the Chara softly. 

He was sitting on the pallet against the wall beside the door, his knee drawn up and his right arm casually slung on top of it. He held Lord Carle's eyes. After a moment, the council lord bowed in acquiescence to him and said to me, "I am corrected. You are Emorian. Now, if the Cha— If Lord Peter will excuse me, I will consult with Lord Dean and discover whether there is a single windowed chamber in this smoke-clogged building." 

I stepped back and let him pass before walking over to pick up the Jackal's mask from where it had been flung. 

"Did you find John?" Peter asked as I carefully replaced the mask on the wall. 

I nodded as I turned. At Peter's gesture, I came forward and sat next to him, pausing on the way to close and lock the door with the key we had been given by the priests. "It was good to be able to talk with him again." 

"I have always appreciated your gift for understatement. Leaving aside Lord Carle's sarcasm, it must indeed have been a joyous reunion – that is, if John is still the friend you remember." 

"He is like I remembered him." I leaned my head back against the wall, staring at the god's mask on the opposite wall. "When I saw him last, fifteen years ago, he was saying that we should make peace with Emor, and today he was saying the same thing." 

"Well," said Peter quietly, "then I suppose that you and he have made your peace over the fact that you stayed in Emor." 

"Yes." As I closed my eyes, I felt a smile drift over my lips. I heard Peter get up. When I opened my eyes again, he was standing over me with a wine pitcher and two cups. He handed them to me, and then eased himself down beside me. 

"Tell me what you think of this," he said. "It is a gift from our hosts, and while my first taste led me to conclude that the priests are in the pay of the Jackal and that they are trying to poison us, I may be wrong." 

I poured myself a cup and tasted it. "I'm sorry to inform you, Peter, that this is fine wild-berry wine, and our hosts will be much insulted if you don't finish the pitcher. So you must at least find some ground to empty the wine onto." 

Peter sighed as he took the cup back that I offered him. "My father told me when I was young that the Chara must suffer for his people, but I didn't fully understand what he meant until this journey. I am depending on you to help me with this pitcher." He took a sip, made a sour face, and promptly took another sip. "So your friend desires peace. I suppose that it's easy for him to find peace in a house such as this." 

"He doesn't live here. He is a trader." 

"A trader. . . ." Peter leaned his chin onto the rim of the cup and left it there for a moment, meditating. "Do you think that your blood brother would be willing to speak to an Emorian lord?" 

"He asked me whether my noble master would be willing to speak to him." I looked sideways over at Peter as he gulped down the last of his wine, shuddered, and poured himself a second cup. "Peter . . . What sort of questions do you plan to ask him?" 

"Nothing that I couldn't learn from any other Koretian; I'm not planning to wring secrets from him. But if he's a trader, he'll know what the people throughout this land think of the Chara and his rule, and that is the sort of information that I've found it difficult to obtain through my spies." He put down his cup and stared at it. "If you want me to tell him who I am, I will. I can't ask you to keep secrets from your blood brother." 

"Thank you," I said, "but it has been many years since I saw him, and while I know that he wishes you no harm, I don't know whether he's the type of man who can keep a secret. I don't want to put you in danger, even if it means hiding something from him." 

He was silent for a minute. Then he handed me his cup and said, "Will you finish this for me? I promise you, I will try it again later, until I love it as much as any Koretian, but I think that my Emorian body cannot stand any more of a shock than it has already undergone during this journey." 

I laughed before sipping from the cup. "Peter, it's your own fault. I am Emorian, you know that, but even so, I think you're a fool to have us wear these woolen Emorian tunics in the middle of a Koretian summer. Wouldn't it be possible for you to demonstrate your love for Koretia by having us adopt the native dress during our visit?" 

Peter smiled at me. "That is advice worth considering. I knew that I brought you on this trip for some reason other than friendship. Would you consider becoming one of my council lords?" 

"Lord Carle might have some objection." 

"Well," said Peter, "I wouldn't want to hurt Lord Carle's feelings, as I'm feeling friendly toward him at the moment. We had a pleasant conversation just now." 

"On military matters or on Koretian barbarities?" 

"Both. He told me that a priest who visits the city regularly told him that the Jackal and his thieves have been unusually quiet during the past few days. On most occasions, I would have continued to keep the conversation steered away from his views on Koretia. Instead, I found myself explaining to him that Koretia is the most barbaric, fly-infested land I've ever visited." He smiled at me. 

John said coolly, "If you wish to avoid Koretia's blood-flies, it is best to come during the winter." 

Peter's smile faded as he turned to look back at the doorway where John stood in his priestly robe. The door had been closed and locked a moment before; I wondered how he had managed to make his way in. 

The Chara said quietly, "I ought not to have been making such remarks while being hosted by Koretians. I apologize for causing offense." Then he gestured in the manner that I had seen him do only once before, touching his breast and forehead. 

John continued to stand at the doorway, and for a moment it seemed that he would make no reply, either in word or gesture. Finally he said, "No, you spoke truly. Koretia is undoubtedly fly-infested, and it is also barbaric in certain ways. In any case, it is hard to become used to life in a different land." He returned Peter's greeting with a smooth motion of the hand. Then, apparently taking this exchange as permission enough, he closed the door and sat down cross-legged in front of us without another word. I handed him the cup of wine from which I had been sipping. 

Peter gestured away the second cup that I filled and offered to him. "It is a pleasure to meet Andrew's blood brother at last. Andrew is not very talkative about his past – it is unwise to be talkative in the Chara's palace, where we live – but he has told me enough about you to intrigue me." 

John stared back at Peter, his dark eyes unreadable. Finally he said simply, "It is a pleasure to meet you as well." 

The quirk of a smile began to quiver at the edge of the Chara's face. He controlled himself and said, "I hear that you are a trader." 

Once again John was silent, his gaze focussed on Peter. I leaned back against the wall, watching the two men fight some private dagger-duel through the eyes. John's voice, when he replied, was low. "I do not suppose that, as an Emorian, you are familiar with the life of a Koretian trader. We travel the country, carrying no goods with us, but instead arrange for barters between merchants who will later deliver the goods themselves. Because we carry no goods, we can travel quickly, and because we travel widely, we are generally the first to hear rumors and to learn what is happening throughout the land. We are the first, besides the governor's soldiers, to know when a Koretian has been arrested; we are the first, besides the Jackal's thieves, to know when an Emorian has been murdered. Unless he consulted the Chara's spies, it is unlikely that an Emorian would be able to find anyone who could tell him as much about the Koretian people as a trader." 

Peter looked at John for a moment more before turning his head toward me. "Andrew, I believe that I'll have that cup of wine after all. I think that I'll need strong medicine in order to deal with your blood brother." 

For the first time since he entered the room, John smiled. "I am just as interested in Emor as you are in Koretia," he said. "I work as a trader, so I will offer you an exchange: I will tell you what the Koretians think of the Chara's rule if you will tell me what the Chara thinks of the Koretians." 

"I think," said Peter slowly, "that you must be very skilled at your work. It is a fair bargain. What would you like to know about the Chara?" 

"Ask me your questions first." 

Peter reached up to wipe his neck free from sweat. The air around us was musty and hot, and more heat drifted down to us from the wall-perched candles in the cell, whose flames were steady in the breezeless room. I reached up to wipe the dampness from my face with the back of my hand, but John, motionless and expressionless, had no moisture on his face. 

"I am interested in the Jackal," said Peter, gesturing with his head toward the mask on the wall behind John. "I would like to know what sort of man he is and what it is that he wants. Is it the Koretian throne that he is fighting for?" 

John was slow in replying. "That is hard to say. The god does not often speak to the Koretians, and his ways are mysterious. But certainly the Jackal has never been heard to make any claim for the throne. In any case, the matter cannot be decided by the Jackal alone. In order to become King, a Koretian would need the consent of his people." 

Peter frowned and absentmindedly sipped from the cup I had handed him, too absorbed in his thoughts to notice what he was drinking. "I don't understand," he said. "You make the Koretian throne sound like some barbarian chief's title, in which the chief becomes master through wrestling with all of his warriors." 

John drew his left knee up and rested his elbow on it, placing the back of his hand under his bearded chin in a reflective fashion. "There are worse ways to select a leader. However, I am surprised, Lord Peter, that after all these years of governing this dominion, an Emorian council lord should remain so ignorant of Koretian customs. In the old days, it was the High Priest who gave his consent to the enthronement of the heir presumptive, and he did not do so until the Koretian people had indicated, through the King's Council and their local councils, that they wished to be ruled by the heir. This is not Emor, where a master may bond men into unwilling servitude." 

Peter put down his cup abruptly, placing it deliberately near me. As I picked up his cup and sipped from it, Peter said, "As I recall, it was the Chara Nicholas who persuaded the Great Council to end slavery in this land, and he did so because it took the most barbaric form possible: the slaves were stripped of their names, deprived of their voices, forced to wear masks, and treated as though they were living corpses. Emor, for all its reputation of harshness, has never done anything to match that; nor has it had blood feuds or demon-stonings or any of the other religious barbarities that Emorian law eliminated from this land." 

John paused again before replying in a soft voice, "If you look carefully at the old rules concerning those institutions you will find that even they required consent. No man was ever bonded into Koretian slavery who did not accept the gods' law. But I will not defend those institutions to you. They were indeed barbarities, twistings of the gods' law to serve the baser passions of men." 

"Then you understand why we Emorians believe that we have brought good to this land by replacing the gods' law with the Chara's law." 

Muffled through the roof, the bell of the priests' house tolled the hour, while in the corridor, footsteps went by. John waited until the passersby were gone before saying, "Lord Peter, I am sure that you have witnessed the Chara in judgment. Did you ever attend a trial in which the Chara would have been creating an injustice if he were to have followed the law strictly?" 

Peter's gaze drifted over toward me, silently sitting beside him, sipping from the wine that had turned warm in the heat. "Yes, I know of such a case." 

"And did the Chara then decide to destroy Emorian law altogether? Or did he exploit it in such a way as to correct the injustice?" 

Peter accepted the cup from my hand as I offered it back to him. "I take your meaning. You are saying that the gods' law could have been reformed rather than eliminated. But the Chara has not forbidden religion in this land. The Koretians are free to worship the gods, in the same way as many Arpeshians and Marcadians continue to do." 

"The Chara has forbidden the use of religion in deciding matters of the law. I am not against the Emorian court system; I think that it corrects an imbalance in the gods' law, a tendency to interpret the gods' wishes in a manner that best suits the priests. But I think that the Chara's law is also lacking in balance, in an ability to take fully into account a prisoner's character when passing a judgment. That can be done under Emorian law, but not to the same extent as the gods' law allows it, for in Koretia the gods judge men for all the deeds of their lives, not only for the deeds of a single moment." 

"Well," said Peter, leaning back against the wall, "I doubt that we will come to an agreement about this." 

"That is exactly my point," said John. "We will never agree about this, any more than the Koretians will ever agree with the Emorians about how to run this land. That is why they are seeking release from the bonds of the Chara's tyranny." 

Peter's expression darkened, and I saw that he was close to casting judgment upon John. If this happened, there was a good chance that his look as the Chara would surface, and then his identity would be revealed. I made a small movement to distract his attention. He glanced my way, and his expression relaxed. 

John continued, "I do not mean that the Chara intends to be a tyrant. His errors are the result of his ignorance of Koretian customs and his unwillingness to accept that Koretians do not wish to separate their religion from their public lives. I cannot blame the Chara for wishing to rule this land in an Emorian manner. That merely shows why he ought not to be ruling Koretia." 

Peter looked steadily at John, his fingers dipping down into the wine he had not sipped for some time. "Then we come back to the question of who should rule Koretia, and that is a question which must be settled before all others." 

I had been reaching over to move the wine pitcher. I nearly spilled it. Peter had that effect on me sometimes. I would think that I knew all that he thought and felt, and then I would discover, without warning, that his thoughts had been in a different place altogether than mine. 

That the Chara had been considering granting Koretia its freedom he had never hinted to me. 

If John was disconcerted by Peter's leap forward, he gave no sign of it. He asked calmly, "Why do you say that, Lord Peter?" 

Peter stood suddenly, walked over to the door, and opened it. I wondered whether he had grown concerned that someone was listening to this conversation – one of the Jackal's thieves, perhaps. He lingered in the doorway for a moment, staring out at the corridor. When he had closed and locked the door and returned to where he had been before, he said, "I am Emorian, and I cannot help but be concerned with laws and with order. I see what I imagine the Chara sees as well: that the Chara cannot simply give freedom to this land while the people are without a ruler and while this land has no courts of its own, no central army, nothing that would keep Koretia from collapsing back into civil war. He must give the government over to a ruler until the Koretians have a chance to rebuild their government, create their own law-system, and choose whether they want this man or another to rule over them. Now, who shall the Chara appoint for such a duty? A nobleman who has supported the governor? I doubt that the Koretians would accept him. The Jackal or one of his thieves? The Koretians would accept this but the Chara would not, because he does not wish to arm the hunting god. In any case, Emor cannot withdraw its soldiers and court officials immediately, lest Koretia be destroyed, and since it cannot, the Chara needs someone in power who can both bring peace to the Koretians and work in peace with Emor. Where will the Chara go to find such a man?" 

John was silent for a moment, his eyes suddenly distant in a manner that made my back tingle at the memory. Then he said quietly, "If I were the Chara, I would seek the god's command." 

"I hope," said Lord Carle from the doorway, "that you are not advising us to place ourselves under the command of Koretian gods. I would say that one god at least is busy enough tonight without our bothering him." 

I had been surprised to discover that John had made his way through a locked door; to discover that Lord Carle had managed to pick a lock surprised me not at all. Nor, it seemed, did this cause any questions to rise in Peter's mind; his thoughts were elsewhere. Lifting his head suddenly, like a dog scenting danger, he asked, "What is it?" 

"Lord Dean and I have been on the roof. You had best see for yourself." 

Peter was on his feet immediately, but John was already out the door and racing down the corridor. We followed him to a stairway and scrambled up after him onto the roof. 

Many centuries ago, when there was danger of the Daxion army invading the border from either side of the mountain, the priests' house had been equipped with two square lookout towers. One tower lay at the east end of the roof and the other on the west end. The towers were only slightly taller than the roof connecting them. We found Lord Dean standing on the western tower, leaning his arms onto the stone parapet and staring meditatively at the view to the northeast. He did not turn as we joined him at the parapet. 

It was twilight, and night's shadow had spread its cloak across the land. To the west of us, the Daxion border mountains were silhouetted against the shell-pink setting sun. To the east, the coastal waters were lit by the rising moon. The war moon – that was what the Koretians called the full moon, because it shone like a silver blade. 

Down in the darkened countryside was evidence of the moon's power. 

It was a flame, glowing from the dark land like a red star blazing in the night sky, but larger than any star would be. From this distance, it looked like nothing more than a hearth-fire, but since we were far away, it must be something greater. 

"Where is that?" asked Peter. 

"Valouse," replied John. He was staring at the fire intently, as though he could see what was happening in the streets there. "It is a large town, with its own garrison. Also, the governor has been sending army divisions there for the past two weeks. There have been hints that riots were about to occur, and he wanted more soldiers there to control the Koretians." 

Peter murmured, "May your gods watch over them." 

"The soldiers or the Koretians?" 

"Both." Peter was silent a moment, as though trying to hear the screams in the town. Then he asked, "How far is the town from here?" 

"Lord Peter." The speaker was Lord Dean, turning his gaze for the first time toward the Chara. "It will do Emor no good if we enter into battle now. Our duty lies at the governor's palace, not Valouse." 

I did not hear Peter's reply, for at that moment John pushed himself away from the parapet and walked rapidly from the tower. After a moment's hesitation I followed, and caught up with him finally at the eastern tower, staring out at the same view. 

From this high up, we could hear no sounds of the night except the occasional cries of the doves settling for the night in the cotes near us, as well as snatches of the raised voices of Lord Dean and Lord Carle as they argued with Peter. I looked sidelong at John. His eyes were calm as he stared out at the burning town, but there was a tightness about his mouth. 

He said, "My duty lay in Valouse tonight. That was where I was planning to go." 

"Then it's good that you didn't," I said. "You might have lost your life there." 

John said softly, "A trader friend of mine asked me to come. He said that he needed my help on some business. I would be at his side now if I hadn't stayed here." 

I could think of nothing to say in reply at first, so I glanced over at the western tower, where Peter was standing like an immovable rock as the waves of his council lords' arguments crashed about him. "My master has a strong sense of duty as well. The other lords don't seem to be having much success in convincing him to stay away from Valouse." 

"Is he your blood brother?" 

I jerked my head back toward John. He was leaning against the tower wall, facing me, and his expression was unreadable. 

I said, "Emorians don't have blood brothers." 

"That doesn't answer my question." 

I looked over at the Chara, still battling with silence the suggestions that he keep himself from danger. Next to me, John waited in similar silence. 

Finally I met John's eyes and said, "You are my only blood brother, but Peter is . . ." I tried to think of a way to explain what we were to one another, and then settled for the words that, to an Emorian, would be sufficient explanation. "We share the same cup of wine." 

John nodded as though he understood. I asked, "How did you guess?" 

"He told me himself when he gave me the free-man's greeting. He wouldn't have greeted me in such a way if he hadn't already done so to my blood brother." He waited for me to say something more, and when I did not, he added gently, "I'm glad to know that you have a friend in Emor. Don't be upset about this." 

"It isn't that," I said. "I'm only sorry that I didn't tell you myself." 

I sensed that John had a reply ready, but he focussed his view back on Valouse before replying. "Andrew, I know that you've always believed me unworldly, but I'm not a fool. I know that your party is here, not only as diplomats, but also as spies for the Chara, finding out what you can about the Koretians and giving away as little information as possible about yourselves. I knew before I spoke to you that those would be the new terms of our friendship. It did not pain me to accept those terms. You are Emorian and I am Koretian, but it doesn't change what we are to each other. If we must keep secrets from each other for the sake of our lands, it will not change the oath we made to be blood brothers, beyond death. Nothing can change that, because our friendship was ordained by the gods." 

I continued watching John's serene face for a while; then I switched my gaze back to Peter. He was speaking in a low voice that did not carry over to where we were. I asked, "What do you think of him?" 

John paused a long time before answering, as though his answer was a summary of all that had happened that evening. "I can see why you are friends. He fascinates me. I'm glad to have met him, and I wish that I could talk with him more. I suppose, though, that once you reach the governor's palace, you'll be unable able to leave." 

"Peter won't be able to," I said, "but I'll certainly slip out and see you when I can." 

"Then come to the market and ask for John the trader. My house lies nearby, and anyone can direct you to it." 

He stopped as Lord Carle appeared suddenly at the foot of the short flight of steps leading to our tower. Peter and Lord Dean were following a short distance behind, deep in conversation with one another. Lord Carle said, "Lord Dean has managed to convince your master that the quickest way to bring war to this land would be for an Emorian lord to deliver himself into the hands of the Jackal. I imagine that if your master had had his way, he would be charging up the road toward Valouse right now, waving his sword and acting as vanguard to the army that was nowhere behind him." 

Lord Carle paused, and for a moment his eyes slid between me and my dark-skinned blood brother. Then he said coolly, "But since you are, as you have so often told us, a loyal Emorian, perhaps you yourself planned to be your master's army. You would of course have to act like any other Emorian soldier, imprisoning and killing and raping the Koretians. Well, perhaps not raping; I doubt somehow that lovemaking was in your plans for the future." 

"Lord Carle." It was Peter, who had carefully placed himself so that his back was to John and me. I could guess that this was because his face had grown cold in the manner of the Chara in judgment, if only from the manner in which Lord Carle turned pale. The council lord turned stiffly to face the Chara. Though he kept from bowing to the man who was now supposed to be a fellow lord, his gaze fell to the ground. Peter said with quiet hardness, "I would like to speak to you privately, if I may." 

Lord Carle said nothing, but nodded and walked away. Peter's face returned to normal and he began to follow, but he hesitated and looked up to where John and I stood. John had turned his back on the proceedings, and his eyes were fixed once more on the town. 

Peter stepped lightly up the steps, came over to where I stood, and spoke gently to me, as though John were not at my side. "Andrew, he is angry about Valouse, that is all. Don't let this spark your own anger. The last thing that I need on this trip is for you and Lord Carle to cut each other's throats." 

I said in a dull voice, "I've tired of fighting him in any case. He has won every battle we have waged since the very first one – as he so kindly reminded me just now. You needn't fear that I'll cut his or any other man's throat on this trip." 

Peter began to speak, looked back at where Lord Carle and Lord Dean were disappearing down the roof stairs, and nodded to me, then left. 

I turned back to the view. After a minute, John said, "At least there's no breeze tonight. If the winds were up, half this land might burn, but I think that Valouse's moat will be able to contain the flames." 

He would not ask me, I knew. Nor was he likely to guess, for only a few outward clues might have revealed my secret shame. My boyish appearance he had already dismissed as unimportant. I had no beard, but I had solved that problem by living in a land of beardless men. The differences to my body were either hidden under my tunic or could pass as normal; tall men with long limbs are common enough to cause no question. As for my voice, I had long since trained myself to speak in the man's voice that would never come to me by nature. 

Speaking in that voice now, in a detached manner, I said, "Lord Carle was my first master. He is a man with a strong belief in discipline and order, and when I originally came to Emor, I had no interest in following Emorian laws or adopting Emorian ways of behavior. And so, since I disobeyed Lord Carle's first command, he had me gelded." 

There followed one sound – John's breath swiftly rushing in – and one gesture – his hand curling into a fist. It was, for John, as though he had lifted his dagger and given a shout of rage. He did not look my way but said, with an edge to his voice as sharp as a blade, "The Emorians did that to you?" 

"Lord Carle had it done to me. Peter would never have done it." 

John was silent a long time before saying, "Perhaps. But your master strikes me as a man who is as interested in laws and discipline as any other Emorian. And the soldiers who are down there in Valouse tonight are no more bloodthirsty than any Koretians. They are simply following the customs of Emor, which say that they must maintain discipline at any price." 

I said softly, "You won't tell anyone of this?" 

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw John looking my way. "You know that I won't. But it's as honorable as any other war wound. You ought not to be ashamed." 

"I'm not," I said, "except when I see the look in the face of a woman who has just discovered what I am." 

Many minutes passed before John spoke again. Finally he sighed. "Andrew, I must go to Valouse tonight. The fighting will be over before I arrive, but if he has survived, my trader friend will need my help, as others may." 

I said, "I suppose that the best that you can do for them is pray to the gods. The gods listen to you in a way that they don't listen to the rest of us." 

"I wish that that were true," said John, "but I have been praying for peace for a long time now, and it seems further away than ever."


	11. Land of the Jackal | 3

**CHAPTER THREE**

Next morning, as we passed through the city gates, we met John again. 

I had lingered at the gates as the rest of the party rode forward, because from this vantage point I could see down into the rest of the city. Most of the city was unfamiliar – the fire had cleansed the capital of its past. The houses I had played amidst had been replaced by an Emorian army camp; the streets were in a new pattern, as though a spider had rewoven its web during the night. My eyes sought one of the few remaining landmarks of my childhood: Council Hill, still covered on its slopes with trees, but now capped by a miniature version of the building that was my home. Another palace, another place of imprisonment for Peter. 

Something to the side of me caught my eye. It was John, sitting on a traders' mule and gazing upon the city with a strange, tender look. Dark circles smudged the skin under his eyes, and his face was solemn. 

He looked over at me and said, "I saw you ahead on the road. I thought I would catch up." He had changed from his priestly robe into the dark tunic that traders wear, but unlike most Koretian men, he bore no weapon. To the left side of his chest, pinned over his heart, was one of the tiny, wooden god-masks that Koretians wear for protection. The mask was black on black clothing, hard to see even at close range, and I leaned over with curiosity to discover which god John had chosen to place himself under the care of. It took me a moment to realize that John was wearing a mask that no Koretian ever wore: the mask of the Unknowable God. 

He reached upward at that moment with his dagger-hand to sweep his hair out of his eyes. His fingers were curled slightly inwards. I caught a flickering sight of his palm: it was black and rugged. 

The sharp intake of my breath caught John's attention away from the city. He followed my gaze and said, "That happened years ago. I burnt myself on a fire that I built for a god." 

I said slowly, "A sacrificial fire?" 

John looked back at me steadily, his silence his only answer. I said, "You must have needed a great deal of help from the god in order to make such a sacrifice." 

"It was for a friend of mine. An Emorian soldier had stabbed him, and he was in danger of dying." 

I remained without words a while, thinking that it was just like John to fight the Emorians, not with weapons, but by sacrificing his own flesh. Then I asked, "Did you reach Valouse?" 

"Brendon, my trader friend, was halfway to the city when I met him. We came back together and took a room for the night along the way. Brendon needed the rest. He travelled on to the city this morning, but I rode up to the priests' house to see whether you had left yet." John kicked his mule forward. Ahead of us, Peter looked back to see where I was before he turned back to continue his conversation with Lord Carle. 

I asked, "Did Brendon tell you how things were in Valouse?" 

John made no immediate reply. We had wound our way down onto a broad avenue that cut through the trading district – must have been cut through in actual fact, I realized, looking at the haphazard arrangement of the houses around us. As John swiftly turned his mule out of the path of a division of soldiers, I saw that the Chara had stopped his horse and was speaking to the leader of the soldiers. We continued to ride forward slowly as John said, "It was very bad in Valouse. Brendon lost his home; he was lucky to keep his life. He said that the soldiers were not taking prisoners." 

John said nothing more, for Peter had wheeled his horse around and come over to us. The Chara nodded his greeting to John before saying to me, "I've just talked to Lord Alan's subcommander. He says that the governor went to Torrid Springs in Central Koretia last week to enjoy the waters, but that he is expected back this morning." Peter sighed and added, "The governor has a long ceremony planned for our arrival. It will take most of the day, I expect. He has invited our servants, but it will be a formal occasion." His hand rested lightly on his dagger hilt as he awaited my reply. 

"Then I will be able to escape the torture," I said. "I will find some other way to entertain myself, no doubt." 

"I thought, if John had the time, that you might spend the day with him," Peter said, and looked with a questioning expression at my blood brother. 

John replied, "I would certainly like to spend time with Andrew, though I may have business to do later this morning. It is kind of you to allow him the time free." 

"Well," said Peter, turning his horse forward, "of course we Emorians usually keep our servants chained in a dungeon, but we do allow them out on occasion. I will let the governor's palace guards know that you are expected, Andrew. Return whenever you are ready." Without looking our way again, he spurred his horse forward. 

John followed him with his eyes, and then turned his mule off the avenue onto a side street. As I followed him through the dark, narrow alley, he asked, "Why won't you be attending the governor's ceremony?" 

"Only free-men are allowed at Emorian ceremonies," I said, "and I don't have a weapon to show that I'm a free-man." 

"Couldn't you borrow one from Lord Peter?" John asked. The street grew more narrow and began to be crowded with children playing in the dirt. John slipped smoothly from his mule and began guiding it carefully through the games; I followed suit. My nose was beginning to recognize the smells of my native land: wild-berries set out on windows to dry, blackroot nuts being roasted, and the green scent of leaves from the saplings that always seemed to take root in the roads. 

After several minutes, I said, "I had a dagger once. I tried to kill Lord Carle with it when he was unarmed. After that, I decided it would be better not to carry a weapon." 

I kept my eyes on the road, dim beneath my feet. The dry dust rose up in protest at each step I took. When I finally looked over at John, he was smiling. 

"You've changed," he said. "You always wanted to be dagger-mounted when we were young, and that worried me. Some people like to fight, and some people fight because they have to, but it always seemed to me that fighting was to you like drink is to a weak man. Put a weapon in your hand, and you wouldn't be able to keep yourself from using it, no matter who was your victim. That could be good in the right circumstances, but dangerous in the wrong ones. I'm glad that you've acquired the vision to know yourself so well." 

He stopped at a lean-to attached to a house. Pulling the door open, he led his mule into a tiny stall that another mule already occupied. With some difficulty, I managed to squeeze my horse inside as well. John had started to unload his pack from his mule when a voice said, "When are you going to build a new stable, John, so that you can welcome your guests in a manner befitting your station in life?" 

A brown-bearded man stood in the doorway. His clothes were tattered and covered with soot, and a red stain was making its way through the cloth that bound his right arm, yet he smiled affably at us. 

"I didn't expect to have two guests at once," replied John, knotting his mule's rein around a post. "Did you find the soldiers' supply-keeper?" 

"Yes, and he has an extra room, so there's no need for you to crowd me into your house." The man stepped forward into the dark stable and said to me, "You must be a friend of John's." 

"This is my blood brother Andrew," said John. "I didn't have time to mention him to you last night." 

"You had no time to mention anything to me, for I was too busy telling you of my adventures." The man scanned me quickly, obviously trying to ascertain my land loyalty, and then gave me the free-man's greeting. "Are you the blood brother who disappeared into Emor so many years ago? John has mentioned you before." 

"And I venture to guess that you are Brendon," I said, returning the greeting. "I was sorry to hear about your home." 

"Ah, well," said Brendon, scratching his forehead beneath the ragged brim of his hat. "Possessions are a curse to a trader in any case. I've always wanted to be able to travel from town to town without having to worry that the Jackal's thieves have set up their lair in my house during my absence." 

"The governor will no doubt be sure that the Jackal was in Valouse last night," said John. 

"If the Jackal had been in Valouse, he would be dead now," said Brendon tersely. "The tales say that the Jackal barely managed to escape the flames when the capital was burned fifteen years ago, and on that occasion he was unable to stop the carnage. I imagine that the god knew better than to come to a town where he could do no good. Even the Jackal can't solve all of this land's problems. Trade has become very bad. . . . Speaking of bad trades, your supply-keeper friend has managed to convince me to trade a bale of cloth for five of his wife's dinners. Can you advise me on how to escape from this deal?" 

John looked at me apologetically. "Thus goes the life of a trader – I am no sooner home than I must talk business. Andrew, I don't want you to fall asleep listening to my advice on the price of linen cloth versus the value of wool cloth. Let me settle you inside, and then Brendon and I will go off and have a drink in a tavern for a short while. You look as though you could use strong sustenance, Brendon." He guided us outside, shut the stable door, and opened the door to his home. 

It was a small house, unusually dark for a Koretian building, with only the broad window facing the street and a little window in the back door that overlooked the garden behind the house. The first thing I saw as I entered was the hearth, placed not in the middle of the wall in symmetric Emorian fashion, but off to one side. Over the hearth hung all seven masks of the gods. The rest of the room contained the usual clutter of chests, cooking implements, a table, and two benches. At the far end of the house stood a sleeping alcove with its curtain drawn. 

I had seen this in the time that it took the three of us to step inside the house. The rest of my observation was cut short as a young woman rushed forward and flung herself into John's arms. 

He held her tight for a moment as she buried her face in his shoulder. I heard her whisper, "You have been gone too long." Then something made her look up, and she stared at me. 

She was a year or two into womanhood, about a decade younger than John. Her hair was black and her eyes were dark, like that of all Koretians. But the eyes were set into a face that was paler than my own, and I realized that she must be the product of one of the informal and unfortunate unions that inevitably result when soldiers are stationed for long periods in a foreign land. 

She smiled at me, but in a tentative fashion. That fact, added to the peace I was feeling once more in John's presence, caused me to give her one of my rare smiles. Immediately her face lit up, and she turned to look at John inquiringly. 

John laid his hands on her shoulders, slowly turning her to face me. Looking down at her face as he stood behind, he said, "Ursula, this is my blood brother Andrew." 

I saw the shock go through her like a bodily blow, and her face grew as white as the stones of the Chara's palace. John was still watching her and gently gripping her shoulders as though he were holding her up. Some emotion welled up inside her so great that it seemed that in the next moment it would explode. She took a step forward, heedless of John's hands, which fell away. The hint of a shout or a smile appeared on her face as she whispered, "But this is wonderful. You are—" 

As she spoke, she took another step forward. She was within reach of me now, and still walking. I had not noticed that my smile had faded, but she stopped suddenly like a tame creature who has reached the limit of its leash. Whatever great emotion had been about to explode died out, as though cold water had extinguished it. 

I noticed this because I had become accustomed in Emor to reading expressions. But this was not something, I think, that anyone else would have noticed, for in the next moment she smiled as she said, "You are alive! After all these years, you have returned home to your blood brother. I'm so glad to meet you. How did you find John?" 

John had come forward. He touched Ursula briefly on the shoulder, looking down at her shining face, and then turned his back to us as he placed his pack on the table. He said, "Andrew came knocking at the door of the priests' house just as I was about to leave. I nearly walked into him." 

Ursula laughed. "It's as though you had been sent by the god, Andrew. How is it that you were able to return to Koretia?" 

John still had his back to us. I saw him bringing out the same items he had unpacked the night before: the clothes, the food, and the satchel. A small roll of white bandage material emerged as well. I looked at the half-breed girl, thinking that she of all people must hate the Emorians, but I found it oddly easy to make my confession to her. "I am a free-servant in Emor, and my master has come to Koretia on business. I did not believe that John was still alive, or I would have visited Koretia before." 

Brendon was in the process of tossing his hat onto the table beside John's pack. I saw his eyes flick my way; then he handed John the satchel he had been reaching for. Ursula did not seem disturbed. She said over her shoulder, "I told you that he would find his way back here in the end, John. You needn't have made those long trips to Emor." 

John did not reply; he was beginning to pull papers from his satchel. I said quietly, "You went looking for me?" 

"I knew that I wouldn't find you. But I had to try." 

He still had his back to me. I saw from his arms that he was tugging at one of the papers that must have caught itself in the satchel. I took a step forward to see what was in his face. But my path was blocked by Ursula, who skipped forward another step toward me and said, "The first time he visited, he went to the Emorian capital and saw the Chara's enthronement celebration. He said that it seemed as though everyone in the Three Lands was there. Did your master go? It would be strange if you and John had been in the same city at the same time." 

"The Chara!" Brendon struck his forehead with the heel of his palm. "I'm a fool, John. Not only did I not listen to your news, I didn't give you my own. The Chara is here." 

"Here in Koretia?" Ursula bounded to the table and leaned toward Brendon. 

"I heard that rumor too, before I entered the priests' house." John closed the satchel and walked over to hang it on a hook by the hearth. "Do you suppose there's any truth to the story?" 

"There is if your supply-keeper friend is to be trusted. He said the soldiers were saying that the governor expected the Chara to arrive soon." 

John picked up his pack and carried it to the sleeping alcove, leaving it lying next to the curtain. "Perhaps we will see him when he enters the city, then. I expect that he'll be accompanied by an impressive array of troops." 

"I thought the Chara never left his palace!" exclaimed Ursula. "I'd love to see him when he travels through the city. Andrew, have you ever seen him?" 

"My master is a lord living in the Chara's palace," I said carefully, "and the Chara often walks about the palace. I have seen him many times." 

"What is he like? John has seen him only once." 

"Ursula," John said with a slight note of warning. "Andrew is our guest. You ought not to quiz him in this fashion. Andrew, please be seated. Ursula and I seem to have lost our manners as hosts." 

I took the windowseat he offered. Brendon had already seated himself on one of the benches and was staring at the wine cask against the opposite wall with a reflective look. I said to John, "You saw the Chara?" 

John smiled. "I saw a voluminous black cloak that the onlookers claimed was the Chara. I was in the crowd at the enthronement celebration when the Chara stood at the east palace gate to greet his people. Like Ursula, I thought the Chara never left the palace, so it seemed my one chance to see him." 

"Do you suppose he'll speak to the Koretians while he's here?" Ursula asked wistfully, skipping around the table to take hold of John's waist. "I'd very much like to hear him." 

"So would I," John replied. "I doubt, though, that he will leave the governor's palace, not with Koretia on the edge of war. The Chara has probably come to advise the governor on what to do here." 

"Well, if I saw the Chara, I'd know how to advise him," said Ursula, her voice rising with passion. "I'd tell him to free Koretia. That's all he needs to do." 

Brendon laughed. "Ursula, if you saw the Chara, I know just what you would do. You would begin by scolding him and end by sympathizing with him for all his troubles." 

Ursula lifted her chin. "I am Koretian. The Chara is my enemy. I wouldn't sympathize with him for the way he has oppressed us." 

"Enough," said John. "Ursula, please bring out wine for a peace offering to Brendon. He needs it." He came over and sat by the trader. "Show me that bandage." 

"You wrapped it yourself. Why do you need to see it again?" Brendon tried to edge away from John, but halted as John gripped his left wrist. 

"Because I know how you take care of yourself. It is courage to die of a wound gained in battle, but folly to die of one that has been infected through carelessness. Now, sit still." John reached out and began with painstaking care to unwrap the strip of cloth on Brendon's right arm. He looked up, and his eyes met mine. "This isn't much of a homecoming for you, Andrew." 

"It feels very much like home," I said. "Matters were always a-broil when I was living in Koretia." 

"More so now." John paused a second as Brendon flinched; John had reached the wound. Then, ignoring Brendon's wince, he tore away the cloth that was sticking to the wound. "It looks fine at the moment," he reported. 

"It's just a flesh wound, I tell you." 

"You would say that if the soldier had cut you to the bone. But you're right this time." John began binding the wound with fresh bandaging, saying, "You have the cunning of the Jackal, Brendon, to escape from that horror with only a flesh wound." 

"I call it luck. If I'd had a family to defend, like most men there, I'd be meat for the soldiers' table now." 

"Yes." John's eyes drifted upwards to Ursula as she placed a cup of wine in front of Brendon. 

She said, "I was going to give Brendon some nuts, but it has been five days since you promised to take me to the market, John, and I'm about to fight the rats for their food." 

"You'll have to wait a short while longer, I'm afraid. Brendon and I are about to set off to the tavern and sort out some of this—" He waved his hand toward the business papers strewn on the table. 

"Oh, John!" Ursula shook herself with frustration. "It won't take long for me to get what we need. Can't I go on my own?" 

"No. I'm sorry." John began gathering the papers into a pile without looking up. 

Ursula was silent. I said, "I can take Ursula to the market. I'd like to see what the new one looks like." 

John looked over at me. With barely a pause, he said, "Thank you; that is kind of you. That will allow Brendon and me to do our business here, as I don't think our favorite tavern would appreciate having a wounded man bleed all over the customers. May I show you something before you go?" 

I nodded. John tightened the bandage; Brendon gave an involuntary whimper, and John's gaze travelled up to his face, but this time John did not pause. When he had finished, he beckoned to me, and I followed him over to the sleeping alcove. 

He ducked around the curtain without pulling it back, and I did the same. In the dim light of the alcove, I could see a plain-framed bed and beside it a wooden chest. On the chest was a single carving, that of the blank god-mask. John opened it and began rummaging through the clothing inside. 

I could hear Ursula chatting with Brendon at the other end of the house. I said in a low voice, "You didn't tell me you'd married." 

John bent over, trying to peer into the dark chest. "I didn't know how to describe Ursula to you. I thought I would let the two of you come face to face so that she could introduce herself to you." 

"I like her very much," I said. 

John looked back at me then, smiling. "I'm glad. I'd hoped that you two would enjoy each other's company. Ursula is friendly with anyone who will allow her to be, but I can see that she has taken a liking to you." 

"I've hardly spoken a word." 

"Ursula doesn't need words in order to judge a man. —Here we are." 

I sat down beside him and watched as he brought out the iron dagger that had been at the bottom of the chest. He held it out to me, but I did not touch it. Instead I said, "I can scarcely believe that you still have it after all these years." 

"It was dedicated to the Unknowable God; I would not have lost it. Nor would I have misplaced the dagger with which we took our blood vow." 

I touched it then, very lightly, but withdrew my hand quickly. Looking up, I saw John's eyes on me. He said quietly, "I haven't forgotten what you told me before, but life in Koretia is dangerous now, especially for Ursula. I can go weaponless when I take her to the market because people here know me, but you're wearing an Emorian tunic. You need a blade on display to prevent men from starting fights with you and Ursula. I doubt that you'll need to draw it." 

"John . . ." I stopped to phrase my words correctly, and then borrowed them from another source. "John, when I nearly killed Lord Carle, Peter told me that I'm not the sort of man who can master my bloodthirst. I ought not even to wear a weapon." 

"Lord Peter is right: you cannot be master over your rage. You can allow someone else to be master of it, though. I am your blood brother, bound to you by an oath to the gods, and I am placing Ursula under your care. In turn, place your anger under my care and swear to me that, while you carry my dagger, you will not do anything that would bring harm to Ursula. If you swear this, then I know that you will not break your trust." 

I felt my heart pounding, and I was not entirely sure why. It had taken only a moment to turn gentle John, whom I had cared for when I was a boy as though I were the elder, into something much harder and firmer. It was like the moment when we had made our vows, or the more terrible moment later when I saw John with the dagger in his hand. Yet John's eyes looked upon me with their usual light touch, so I said, "I am Emorian now, and Emorians do not swear to the gods. But I will give you the oath I gave to the Chara, that I will obey the laws that you have bound me with, and I will use the dagger only as you would have me do." 

John smiled and said in an easy voice, "Tell Ursula that we'll need plenty of blackroot nuts. I may invite some friends over soon, and we always seem to be short of food when that happens."


	12. Land of the Jackal | 4

**CHAPTER FOUR**

It was a beautiful Koretian morning. The meadow-green cloth covering the market stalls shone in stark contrast to the deep blue sky. Moisture shimmered on the ground ahead, brought forth by the warm air that enfolded us in its arms. Holding an apple up to inspect it for wormholes, Ursula said, "So you and John saw the demon being stoned?" 

I held Ursula's basket forward so that she could fill it with apples without my having to look at the fruit. I had stopped eating apples on the day that I learned Lord Carle owned one of the few orchards in Emor. "It was my idea to watch. I was rather bloodthirsty in those days. I had never seen John so angry – not at the demon, but at the men who stoned him. He said that of course such a man ought to be kept from doing wrong, but that there must be a way to exorcise the evil spirit from him, rather than destroy both the man and the demon at the same time. He talked about it for days." 

"It's hard to believe such things ever occurred," said Ursula, handing a few copper pieces to the fruit-seller before taking her basket back from me. "The gods be thanked that the priests no longer allow such happenings." 

I opened my mouth, and then closed it again. This was not the place to say that it was not the gods she should be thanking but the Chara. I could see out of the corner of my eye that the stall-keepers and customers in the market were watching suspiciously the half-breed woman and the man in Emorian clothes. It had taken no effort on my part to return to my usual cold expression; now and then I saw Ursula glance uncertainly at my face, but she made no comment on the fact that I had donned my old mask. Just as my rigid face had protected me in Emor from the back-stabbing palace dwellers – or from the more direct assaults of Lord Carle – so too, here in Koretia, the men and women who muttered remarks about Ursula and me appeared unwilling to come close enough to be within striking distance. I was beginning to believe that John's dagger would be a superfluous weapon during our market visit. 

As if she had guessed my unspoken thought, Ursula added, "Of course, the priests are to blame in the first place for ever allowing something like that to happen. When the gods gave us their law, they left it up to men to decide how it was used. Ceremonies like demon-stoning destroyed the whole purpose of the law. When you have seen the gods' law used properly, you can't doubt that it's a great gift." 

I looked curiously at John's wife, who was swinging around a pole in order to turn a corner between the stalls. "_Have_ you seen the gods' law used? Aren't you too young to have seen it before it was outlawed?" 

Ursula turned quickly toward a nut-seller's stall she had just sighted. "Oh, well . . . you know, even rites that the Emorians outlawed still take place. Not demon-stonings, of course, but good rites that shouldn't have been outlawed, like trial by the gods' law. Anyone who has seen the god in judgment isn't willing to accept the Emorian view on such matters." 

She spoke as though she had witnessed the god himself pronounce judgment, but I knew what she meant. I had witnessed the gods' law in use only once, when John had been unjustly accused of stealing money from the priests and had asked me to be his witness at the trial. The "trial" – as an Emorian, I no longer regarded it as such – consisted of John and me and John's accuser meeting with his tutor, Lovell, and answering whatever questions the priest asked about John, whether they were connected with the theft or not. I could not initially understand the point of many of the questions, though I was interested in what they revealed about John. I heard not only of his virtues, which I knew, but also of his weaknesses, such as allowing the younger boys under his care to go unpunished for their misdeeds and covering up the wrongdoing of others in order to help them escape punishment. This latter fault was how he had come to be accused of taking part in the crime. I would gladly have adopted such vices, since they were more noble than many of my own virtues, but I was concerned by the strained look on John's face when it came time for Lovell to pronounce in the gods' name what sacrifice the god wished John to make for what he had done. John knew that the gods, being wiser to the consequences of evil than men, could require anything of him up to his death. 

In the end, the punishment had been quite small, but I remembered Lovell telling John, "Though the gods' ways may seem mysterious to us, the life of Koretia depends on us obeying the gods' commands." 

The memory echoed in my mind – surely I had heard those words at some more recent time – but a shout of voices roused my attention. I looked over at Ursula. We were standing now in the avenue, and she was waiting for me to speak, so I said, "I have seen the gods' law in use, and it is a wonderful tool in the right hands, but I think that if I had a choice between facing trial under a mediocre Koretian priest or facing it under a mediocre Emorian judge, I would prefer the judge. The gods' law is too easy to manipulate." 

Ursula's gaze drifted away from me. Fearing that I was being too critical of her land, I changed the subject and said, "Does John know that you go to these unlawful trials, or do you—" 

"Look out!" Ursula cried suddenly, pointing behind me. 

I whirled, and had just time enough to thrust Ursula to the side of the road. There she fell into the arms of a black-bearded Koretian who, like everyone else, had darted out of the way of the approaching soldiers. Then the horses were upon me, squealing as they rose into the air above my head. The soldiers had stopped them just short of running over me. 

For a moment, my vision went dark with fear. I heard shouts and footsteps, and someone grabbed my arms, pinning them behind me. My vision returned, and I discovered that I was surrounded by a half dozen soldiers, all holding swords unsheathed. Beyond them and the horses was a carriage, with a round-faced, clean-shaven man staring angrily out the window at us. 

A lieutenant came up to him and said, "I'm sorry, Lord Alan. It's a Koretian blocking the way – probably one of the Jackal's thieves, trying to cause mischief." 

"Well, you've played right into his hands, haven't you?" the governor said sharply. "How many times must I tell you? If anyone gets in the way, ride over him. I'm not going to make myself a target for assassins just in order to keep from offending your sensitivities. Now, get this man out of the way, arrest him, and carry on." 

The soldier who was holding me dragged me aside as the other soldiers remounted. For a moment I could not speak because I was coughing from the dust flung up by the horses. Then, as the horses and carriage drew away and the lieutenant came forward, I said icily in my best Emorian, "Let me go. I'm no thief; I am free-servant to Peter, Lord through the Chara's honor, who has just arrived at the governor's palace." 

The lieutenant looked doubtfully at my face – dark but beardless – and then at my Emorian tunic before nodding to the soldier holding me. As I pulled my numb arms back into place, he said, "Watch your step in the future, Koretian – Emorian – whatever you are. The governor doesn't take kindly to having his path blocked." 

I made no reply as the soldiers mounted their horses and hurried to catch up with the others. My gaze was on the bystanders, who had not heard my words, but had witnessed the soldiers' quick release of me. No doubt if I had been some innocent Koretian, I would now be on my way to the governor's dungeon. 

I felt a familiar sickness in my mouth as I turned away. This sort of episode was all too familiar to me. For the Chara's sake, I had sometimes returned to his palace slave-quarters to try to help settle disputes that had arisen between the Chara and his slaves. There, for a brief while, I had acted as though I were any other slave-servant again – until evening, when the slaves were locked in for the night, and I returned to my comfortable chamber in the Chara's quarters. The looks I had received then were the same as I received now. 

I roused myself from my self-pity only when I realized that Ursula was nowhere to be seen. I could guess where she had gone; she had undoubtedly run back to her house to tell John what had happened. I began to make my way back toward the house. 

I learned the error of my assumption when I heard Ursula scream. 

Fortunately, she was not far away – I say "fortunately" because she was on the point of being dragged into a house near the market where she would no doubt have been gagged to keep her from screaming any further as the black-bearded Koretian took his pleasure. Not that anyone seemed ready to come to her rescue in any case. A few people glanced uneasily over at the half-Emorian woman struggling in the grasp of the Koretian man, but no one seemed ready to fight the man in her defense. 

I skidded to a halt just a few paces from the Koretian, and his look of frustration – Ursula was biting his hand to keep it away from her mouth – changed to one of high delight. 

"So, the apostate comes to claim the whore's bastard," he said. "You two are certainly well suited for each other." 

"Then give her to me," I said. My palms were tingling, but I kept my hand well away from my dagger. His was already unsheathed; he had used it to persuade Ursula to come this far. 

The Koretian smiled and thrust Ursula behind him into the open doorway. "Come take her." 

A curious crowd had gathered around us. They were watching me closely. Behind the Koretian, Ursula tried to squeeze her way out of the house, but he pushed her back carelessly with his arm. I heard her cry as she fell to the floor. Slowly, feeling my blood throb in a manner it had not done for a year's time, I pulled out the blade and took a step forward. 

A quiet voice next to me said, "Thank you, Andrew. You may give that back to me now." 

I was ill-trained in these matters; I made the mistake of looking over to the side. The Koretian was not ill-trained; he chose that moment to attack me. He never reached me, though. The next I knew, John, unarmed, had him on the ground and was wrestling with him for possession of his dagger. 

I would have joined the fight at once, but I found myself being held back by Ursula. She had fled from the house and had evidently decided that it was her duty to keep at least one of her protectors alive. Before I could push her aside, the fight was over: the Koretian, panting, had scrambled to his feet and was looking warily at his opponent. John had a cut on his cheek but was otherwise serene in expression as he held the Koretian back with the man's own dagger. 

"Andrew," he said softly, "please take Ursula back to the house." 

I looked uncertainly at John, raised in the priests' house, who to my knowledge had no more skill with a dagger than that which I had taught him as a child. But Ursula was tugging at my tunic, and I realized that John would have even less skill if he were distracted by worries about his wife's safety. So I took Ursula's hand, and we fled the marketplace together, running for the safety of the house. 

o—o—o

The street window was already shuttered and bolted when we arrived. I waited until I had bolted the door as well before I flung John's dagger onto the table and leaned back against the door, trying to catch my breath. Ursula, who seemed well endowed with stamina and nerve, was already unpacking the basket she had quick-wittedly rescued on our way back. As she pulled out the nuts she had bought, I said, "Would you be safe if I left you here?" 

Ursula looked up and gave me a rueful smile. I saw that her hands were shaking and realized she was not as calm as she appeared. "You needn't worry about John," she said. "This has happened before, and he knows what to do." 

"God of Mercy," I said, lapsing back into a Koretian oath. "I had forgotten what Koretia is like. We have dangers in the Chara's palace, but they do not include rescuing women from dagger-wielding abductors." 

"It isn't because I'm a woman." Ursula bent over the nuts, which she was wrapping in a cloth. "It's because I'm half Emorian." 

I watched silently as she pulled up a trap door and placed the nuts into a cool cellar box. When she had raised her head again, she was smiling. She said, "You must be hungry. Would you like something to eat?" 

"To witness the truth, my appetite has fled me." 

Ursula laughed. "Well, John may be hungry. I'm going to go into the back to pull some vegetables." 

I went over to the rear window. A tall wall guarded the garden, and its gate was bolted. "If anyone tries to come into the garden, call for me. I will then repeat my performance of pretending to know blade-play." 

Ursula's rippling laughter remained ringing in my ears after she had been in the garden for several minutes. I watched her from the window as she urged a shrunken parsley plant with gestures to grow taller, and then paused to chat with a butterfly that had landed nearby. 

A loud knock on the door cut into my thoughts. I was quiet for a moment, waiting to see whether John's voice would follow, but nobody said anything, so I stepped lightly to the table and picked up the dagger. I could remain silent, but the person at the door might be Brendon or one of John's other friends. "Who is it?" I asked in my deepest voice. 

"An Emorian soldier, come to pillage your house and rape your women." 

I fumbled in getting the bolt slid back and the latch lifted. By the time I opened the door, he was leaning against the doorpost with his arms folded, greeting me with a smile which had a touch of darkness to it that looked vaguely familiar. I said, "I'm sorry. I was just threatened by a Koretian who'd decided that traitors like me don't deserve to live." 

Peter's smile disappeared, and he stepped into the house at my gesture of invitation. "Yes, I saw that," he said. "I wasn't worried about you, though; you looked quite dangerous yourself. I could have sworn that you'd been taking secret lessons from Lord Carle in blade-play and intimidation." 

"What are you doing here?" I asked, glancing through the slats in the shutters of the window before sitting down on one of the benches. Only a light guard stood outside: two men, armed with daggers rather than swords. I was not particularly surprised. Peter, the Great Chara of Emor, had never liked having guards around him, saying that living in the Chara's palace was imprisonment enough. I had helped him slip away from his father's guards at regular intervals when we were boys. 

"I got tired of waiting for the governor," replied Peter as he took the bench opposite. "All of his officials were fawning over me – I think they learned their manner from Lord Alan. Finally I decided that my time would be better spent seeing how a common Koretian lives, so I slipped out of the palace when Lord Dean's back was turned." 

"Don't tell me that you actually managed to escape the palace without Lord Carle catching you," I said. "I'm acquainted with a number of slave-servants who would love to know your secret." 

Peter gave a small smile. He was dressed in a dark blue linen tunic with the gold edging appropriate for a high nobleman, several steps up from the peasant-brown tunic he usually wore at the palace when not at official functions. At his side was the bone-hilted dagger. The tunic's neck-flap was clasped with a copper brooch he had borrowed from me – officially, I remained a lesser free-man, with no significant rank, but Peter had insisted during the past year that I wear the same copper brooches as the lesser noblemen who were often made palace officials, for otherwise my true status in the palace might be misunderstood. It was typical of Peter to mix rank-markers on his own clothing, but I could see near the copper brooch the faint outline of the emblem brooch that was pinned to his undertunic. 

"Your blood brother seems to be well known in this city," he said. "The Koretians I met were eager to tell me where he lived – once, that is, that I had assured them of my peaceful intentions and listened to their long descriptions of the kind favors he had done for their families. If the people here are to be believed, your blood brother is a man of godly mercy, always generous with advice and help, dealing fairly with Koretians and Emorians alike. Since the Koretians I spoke with feared I was coming to arrest him, they particularly emphasized that he is always unarmed and opposed to violence. The Emorians have nothing to fear from John the trader, I was told." 

I was puzzled by the tone of Peter's voice, which was dry. "So you found the house. Did John tell you that his wife and I were at the market?" 

Peter shook his head, his gaze travelling around the room until it rested upon the Jackal's mask over the mantelpiece. "I saw him leaving the house and followed him at a distance. I was just in time to witness your confrontation, and I stayed to see the aftermath." 

"I take it that John is safe, since you came back here?" 

"Oh, yes," said Peter. "I would say that John is quite safe." 

His words were a tad too light, and there was a touch of coldness to his smile once more. I said, "Heart of Mercy, Peter, don't keep me in suspense. What happened after Ursula and I left?" 

"Well," said Peter, tracing a knothole on the table with his finger, "the first thing that happened was that John handed back the dagger to the Koretian." 

I was slow to reply. "He hates to fight. He always did." 

"Yes, I remember you telling me that. From what you told me, I assumed that John did his fighting with words." 

This time I did not reply. I was beginning to see where the story was headed and why Peter's manner had been so restrained. Peter leaned his elbows onto the table, clasped his hands, and rested his chin on the knuckles, saying, "The Koretian was eager to explain why all half-breeds are renegade rabble – parasitic, perfidious miscreants who deserve to die painful deaths. He explained all of this while waving his dagger at John." There was a pause, replete with significance. "John appeared to agree with what the Koretian said. When I left him, he was keeping a careful eye on the dagger and nodding to every word the Koretian spoke." 

"Peter . . ." I said, and then stopped, unsure of how to comment. 

"I'm sorry, Andrew," he said gently. "I would very much like to believe that your blood brother isn't a coward, but perhaps he has changed since you knew him last." 

"John is _not_ a coward!" 

I looked over my shoulder and saw Ursula standing at the back door, her arms full of vegetables and her face red. She marched over to us, dumped the vegetables onto the table, and stood with her arms crossed. 

Peter was already on his feet. I joined him and said hastily, "Lord Peter, may I present Ursula, who is John's—?" 

"He is not a coward, and you wouldn't say that if you knew him!" Ursula was too angry to notice the introduction. She thumped the table with her fist for emphasis. "Anyone can tell you that John's the bravest man in this land. He is always helping people, even at his own risk." 

Peter was staring at Ursula with his mouth agape. I supposed that no one had addressed him in this manner for quite some time – perhaps not since the last time he and I had fought. He recovered himself, though, and said firmly, "Madam, I have certainly heard that your husband is generous to his neighbors. But it seems to me that the most important thing a man can do is protect those who are under his care, and I cannot see that he has done that today, by allowing your honor to be sullied." 

"What do you know about caring for others?" cried Ursula, throwing a carrot down on the table in Peter's general direction. "You Emorian lords hide yourselves away in the Chara's palace and never go out to see how others live their lives. John lives here amidst the people of our land, and while he cares for me, he also cares for the others here. He does what is best for _all_ of us, not just for those whom he has under his immediate care. He's not like the Chara, who cares only about his friends and family and not about what goes on outside his palace." 

I looked back at Peter, wondering whether I would see him angry or amused. What I witnessed was a look of respect that I suspected few people besides myself had ever seen. He said quietly, "The Chara has no wife, but if he did, I think that he would count himself lucky to be married to a woman who showed such loyalty to her husband." 

Like an emptied wine bladder going flat, Ursula's anger drained out of her, and she looked at Peter uncertainly. Then the door to the street opened, and John slipped inside. 

He did not appear to be harmed in any way except for the cut on his cheek, where the blood had begun to dry. As he closed the door, his gaze travelled between Ursula and Peter, but he did not ask the Chara why he had come. It was Peter who took the initiative, saying, "He let you live, then, even though you're married to one of the rabble." 

John went over to the mantel and adjusted the mask of the Jackal, which had fallen crooked. Without looking Peter's way, he said, "Yes." 

Ursula came over and hooked her arm around his. "Did you convince him?" 

A faint smile travelled onto John's face as he looked down at Ursula. "In the end. We decided that a half-Emorian woman must by definition be half-Koretian. We also decided that anyone who insults a half-Koretian woman is demonstrating a lack of respect for Koretia. And we agreed that, if any Emorian soldier dared to insult you, we ought to defend your honor to the death." 

I stood halfway between John and Peter; thus I could see the change in Peter's face as John spoke. When he had finished, Peter said quietly, "So your peacemaking methods work. I would not have guessed that they would be so effective." 

John's dark eyes rested upon me for a moment before turning toward Peter. "They work, Lord Peter, because I am Koretian, and I know my land's customs. This is not Emor, where you can maintain discipline by beating others into submission. If you do not allow a Koretian to state his grievances, he will refuse to listen to anyone, even the gods. If you allow him to tell his troubles, then he may be willing to accept the possibility that he is wrong." 

"I suppose," said Peter awkwardly, "that it is hard for an Emorian to correctly interpret small confrontations such as this." 

I caught my breath as John curled both of his hands into fists. Ursula had taken a step back and was biting her lip; only Peter was unaware that anything had changed. 

John said softly, "And how many small confrontations is it going to take, Lord Peter, before you and the other Emorian noblemen realize that you cannot treat Koretians the way you treat your slaves? How many Koretians will have to go to prison because they refuse to humble themselves sufficiently when in the presence of the governor and his officials? How many priests will have to die because they refuse to stop bringing the gods' law to the Koretians who request it? How many more Koretians must endure the Chara's discipline by being burnt alive or raped or sent to Emor in slavery, to face mutilation of body and spirit?" 

My gaze was fixed upon Peter. By tremendous strength, he succeeded in keeping his own face, but his eyes were as cold as when he was in judgment. He made no reply, and after a moment, John said, "I apologize, Lord Peter. I ought not to have spoken to you in such a manner – particularly since you are a nobleman." 

Peter hands gripped the hilt of his dagger. His fingers on it were as white as the bone itself. He said shortly, "Koretians must have their say, as you just told me." There was a pause; then he added, "I asked you to tell me what the Koretians think of the Chara's rule. I cannot blame you for being honest in your answer. But I think it is likely that both of us have gone astray in our judgments today." 

"You may well be right," John said very quietly. "It is hard to get to know another person's character quickly, and I assume that Andrew, who has known you for many years, sees aspects to you that I do not. I am only sorry that you and I will not have more of a chance to get to know each other." He glanced toward the doorway, and I knew that he was thinking that the chance that the palace guards were eavesdropping on this conversation was even greater than the chance that Lord Carle had eavesdropped on his conversation with Peter in the priests' house. This was not the place for whatever uninhibited conversation John wished to hold with Peter. 

Peter nodded, perhaps in agreement with John's assessment of the situation, but he made no suggestion of an alternative place for discussion. He was still watching John as warily as he might watch one of his conniving council lords. John turned to me and said, "Andrew, I came to the market to tell you that some of my friends are gathering at a tavern nearby at noonday. I'd like to be able to introduce you to them, but I would rather not leave Ursula alone. Would you mind if she joined us?" 

I could not see why he was asking me permission to bring his own wife, and I opened my mouth to say that I would enjoy her company. But Peter cut in swiftly, saying, "If you wish, and if it is agreeable to your wife, I would be glad to keep her company while you and Andrew are gone." 

John had turned to pull his satchel off the wall hook. He looked over his shoulder at Peter, and the Chara added, "You may be sure that I will not allow any harm to come to her. You have my oath as an Emorian." 

John flicked the briefest of glances over at Ursula. Despite my training in reading people, I missed whatever message passed between them. Turning his attention back to the Chara, he said, "Thank you, Lord Peter. We appreciate your offer." 

"At least I have _somebody_ to prepare a meal for," Ursula said, gathering her vegetables together. "Lord Peter, is there any Koretian food you especially hate?" 

We left Peter assuring her with convincing sincerity that he loved all Koretian food. We started to walk out the back way through the small garden, but had not gone far when John turned to look back, and I saw that Peter had followed us out. 

He came up close to John and said in a low voice, "I may be ignorant of a good many Koretian customs, but I do at least know the Koretian tradition of hospitality, and that a man may not enter a Koretian's house without first giving his name and title. Therefore I would like to give you mine." 

John shifted the satchel on his shoulder so as to hug it tighter to his body. He said softly, "I learned who you were when we first met; there is no need for us to exchange names. However, I'm sure that Ursula would be interested in hearing about life at your palace." Then he turned, leaving Peter to stare after him with a disconcerted look.


	13. Land of the Jackal | 5

**CHAPTER FIVE**

We did not ride this time, but instead wove our way by foot through the threadlike streets. I could see that the governor had made an attempt, when rebuilding the city, to recreate the symmetric pattern of the Emorian capital, but it appeared that the Koretians had simply abandoned use of the broad roads and had instead crowded into the narrow, eccentric alleys. 

John and I were silent. I longed to ask him questions, but since he had not asked me about my secrets, I could not ask him about his. With an effort, I cast my mind instead on the scenery around me: the men and women clustered around the large shop windows, ordering their wares; the beggar-boys fighting each other on a heap of rubbish; and a hand-bound Koretian man being escorted by soldiers, protesting his innocence of whatever crime he was charged with. 

John said, "I suppose that I should have let you stay in the cave after all. It would have saved you the trouble of having to go to Emor to meet him." 

I looked over at him. My blood brother was staring straight ahead, a smile on his lips. "John," I said, "how can you continue trusting me when I keep such secrets from you?" 

"When you worship the Unknowable God, you get much practice in trust. Trusting you is easy by comparison." He ducked his head under the sign of a candle-maker, and then took a wide berth of an argument that had arisen between a candle-maker and one of his customers. An Emorian soldier stood nearby, watching to be sure that the peace was not breached. 

I said, "You guessed from his name? Because you knew that the Chara was in Koretia?" 

"I saw him in the cave as well, you remember. He hasn't changed so much." 

"I'd forgotten that you were there." 

John did not reply for a minute. Then he said, "I think that in the cave you also forgot I was there." 

His eyes were still focussed straight ahead, watching a hay-cart head relentlessly our way – Koretian carts do not stop for obstacles in their path. John's voice held a tone I had never heard in him before. The tone was not of pain or anger, but it brought suddenly to my mind an image: John standing silently in the doorway of our priests'-cell, watching Peter give him the free-man's greeting, and knowing in that moment what the Chara was to me. 

I was trying to find something to reply when we were hailed by a thin man in a leather work-apron, who was travelling down an alley we were crossing. As he came close to us he said, "This is a piece of good fortune, John! I was just coming to your house to see whether I could beg a bit of your service." 

John shifted the strap on his satchel to another position on his shoulder. "I wish I could be of help, Nathan, but I am on my way to a meeting with friends. In any case, I thought I had explained that I cannot take on any new trades at this time." 

"I know, I know, you explained it quite well," said the man. I could see him watching me out of the corner of his eye; otherwise he ignored me. "This is not a new trade, though; it is a failed old one. I bargained by word of mouth with Harold the butcher for a load of his meat, and now neither of us can agree to what the other said." 

"You ought to have had a witness," John replied. 

"I knew that you would say that," replied the man. "You are right, of course; we should have hired a trader. Still, what can we do now? I've already delivered my wine, and it would be more trouble than it is worth for me to take all of it back. Could you not come and help us sort this through? We ask you to judge the matter and decide what is fair, nothing more. It will take little time." 

"And Harold agrees to this?" John cocked his head to one side. 

The vintner laughed. "You do not believe me, I can see. But yes, Harold has for once agreed to let another man decide the matter. I have told him I will keep my cart parked in front of his shop until that happens." 

"Well, then, I had better come, if not to keep peace, then at least to see this miracle for myself." John took a step in the direction the vintner had come, and I followed. The vintner shot another look at me, and John said, "This is my blood brother Andrew." 

The vintner's eyes narrowed, but he said, in a pleasant enough voice, "Good day to you, Andrew. John, while I have your attention on business matters, I may as well ask you . . ." 

The alley was cramped, and I allowed John and the vintner to walk together a few steps ahead of me. When I caught up, John was just ducking his head under a doorway into the butcher's shop. The butcher, a large, sturdy man, was giving him a loud and friendly greeting. 

His greeting cut off as I reached the door. I stopped, and the butcher looked from me to John. This time John did not introduce me, but he stepped back out onto the road next to me. 

The butcher, stone-faced, said to me formally, "I beg that you impart to me your name." 

I could not give him my real title on this trip, nor could I lie to such a question, so I invented a new way to describe myself: "I am Andrew son of Gideon, free-man of the Chara's palace." I touched my heart and forehead in a slow and ceremonious manner. 

A long silence spun out. The butcher was blocking the door, and he seemed in no hurry to reply. John said, "Harold." He spoke no further word, but the butcher looked suddenly uneasy. 

I turned quickly to John and said, "I think I would rather wait outside, John. It is too beautiful a day to be inside." 

The butcher hastily greeted me with his hand. "I am Harold son of Ulric. You are welcome in my home." 

I shook my head and walked past John toward the shop window. A boy was standing there, guarding the vintner's cart. He spat on the ground as I came near, and then ignored me as I settled myself on an upended wine barrel, one of several that had already been unloaded next to the shop window. I sat facing the alley but could still watch, out of the corner of my eye, as the men walked into the shop and went to sit at a table in the back. Their voices drifted back at me: the butcher and the vintner exchanging grievances, John occasionally inserting a quiet question. I paid no mind to what they were saying, but instead concentrated my thoughts on the midday sun, feeling its moist warmth as though I were being showered with sultry snowflakes. 

After a while, John said, "This is how I judge the matter: that Harold is right in what he asks, except that Nathan should be allowed to have a say over the quality of the lamb." 

The butcher gave an appreciative grunt. The vintner sighed and said, "I agreed to abide by your ruling, so I suppose that I must." 

"Good," said John in a tone that suggested there had been no question in his mind of anyone going against the bargain he had made. He stood up, went over to the satchel he had laid next to the wall, and pulled out a pen, ink bottle, and piece of paper. "Which language?" he asked. 

"Koretian," said the vintner firmly. 

"Emorian," countered the butcher with just as much determination. "I am no lover of the language, but if this bargain falls through again, I want a document I can take to the court." 

"I hope that it will not come to that," said John, sitting down beside the men. "You know that I cannot appear in the court. But I take it, then, that you will let the court decide the penalties for oath-breaking?" 

The butcher nodded. The vintner shrugged and said, "What alternative do we have?" 

"Well," said John, dipping the pen in the ink and beginning to write, "you could follow Koretian tradition and burn each other's houses down." 

The butcher gave a guffaw. The vintner looked annoyed as he said, "I am prepared to admit that Emorian rule has its benefits, but even the courts are not worth the price we have had to pay for the Chara's tyranny." He glared my way. I kept my eyes carefully fixed on the alley. 

John was silent for a minute, his quill scratching on the parchment. Then he laid the pen aside and read, "'Nathan son of Boris and Harold son of Ulric do swear on this day the following oath to the gods: that Nathan shall deliver ten casks of wine and, in exchange thereof, Harold shall give him twenty pounds of Daxion lamb of the quality Nathan shall request. The witnesses for this oath are John the trader and the gods under whose care we are placed. The penalties for the breaking of this oath shall be determined by the city court, and in token of this oath we place our pledge here.' I have signed and dated the document. Do either of you have a blade, or should I use the quill?" 

The butcher silently unsheathed his dagger and handed it to John, who pricked his finger with the tip. He then handed the dagger to the vintner, who followed suit and said, "You will poison yourself one of these days from that ink-stained pen. Why don't you carry your own dagger like any other trader?" 

The butcher took the dagger from the vintner, pricked his fingertip, and grumbled, "If you carried a free-man's weapon, you could at least appear in the court if this bargain falls through." 

"You can take that for your answer, then," said John. "I would not care to appear as a witness in an Emorian court. Nathan?" He pushed the document over to the vintner. 

The vintner touched his bloodstained finger to the paper and said, "In the Jackal's name." 

The butcher did the same and said, "In the Moon's name." 

John took the document back, pressed his finger down, and said, "I swear this vow of witness in the name of the Unknowable God. —Now I must be on my way. You know my fee already, Nathan; you can send the wine to my house." 

A minute later he joined me outside, and we made our way through the alley once more. "I apologize for being so long," said John. 

"I found it interesting. It's been years since I've seen a trade take place." 

"Most of my trades aren't done in that manner, of course; I generally negotiate on behalf of one of the parties. But every now and then I must act as judge over a word-bound oath that's disputed." 

"Are the oaths usually phrased in that manner?" 

"These days they are. They need to conform with Emorian law so that the documents can be admitted as court evidence. But I believe that the old Koretian oaths weren't much different. It's surprising how much our lands have in common. —Here we are." He pointed, and I saw that we were at the tavern. As we passed through its door I caught a glimpse of its sign, whose image seemed oddly familiar: a rose growing out of a fire. 

We could scarcely make our way through the crowd inside. The room was drowned with smoke from the hearth fires heating the food. Amidst the smoke, dozens of bodies were jammed together: traders dressed in dark tunics and holding their cups with ink-stained fingers, housewives taking a break from their work and holding squalling babies, market-sellers rushing in to buy a drink and keeping a nervous gaze through the window at their lightly-guarded stalls, and many more. The tavern guests stood close to each other with fellowship and also with the usual Koretian stubbornness against accommodating others. Yet as I entered the room, the crowd, seemingly without taking any notice of me, parted so that they would not have to touch me. 

I looked over to the other side of the room and discovered I was not alone in my isolation. Fully half the tavern was taken up with soldiers sitting in neatly ordered groups and ignoring the Koretians with as much concentration as the Koretians were ignoring them. I saw a few of the Emorians eye me curiously, but none of them showed any signs of wishing to speak to me. Perhaps my face was too Koretian for that. 

John led us through to the back of the tavern, heading for a door there. He reached the door at the same moment as a serving woman who was holding a tray full of mugs and a pitcher. 

"John!" she cried with delight. "Where have you been hiding yourself for the last few days?" 

"I've been at the priests' house, Mai." John spoke in a low voice I could barely hear above the chatter around us. 

Mai cocked her head at him. "And did your god speak to you?" she asked with such mockery that I wondered whether she was insulting John. 

John answered her seriously, however. "Only with commands, not with the answers I was seeking. Are you taking that tray to the others?" 

"This is their _second_ tray – the ale is flowing there as fast as the gossip. And as for gossip, a few rumors have been spreading here at the tavern." 

John smiled. "I'll be glad to relieve you later of the burden of keeping all of those rumors locked in your mouth. In the meantime, let me relieve you of this." He reached out and took the tray. 

"Are you trying to steal my job again, John? You should let one of the other men play the role of servant for once." 

"I am free-servant to the others – I do this of my own free will. In any case, you appear to be busy this afternoon." 

Mai cast her eye back at the crowd. "As busy as we have ever been. We've run out of room for all the soldiers here." 

"Ah." John shifted the tray in his hands and caught hold of a mug that had been about to slide off. "The governor has sent more divisions to the city?" 

"He has sent back the division from Valouse, at any rate. Nothing is left there to guard." Her gaze slid over to me. 

"This is my blood brother Andrew," said John. He did not look at me as he spoke. His eyes were on the soldiers, as though he were memorizing their faces. 

Mai smiled at me and gave me the free-man's greeting. "You are very welcome here, Andrew. I heard Brendon telling the others about you; he said that you had known John when you two were boys. Has John changed much since then?" 

"Not much," I said. "Except that, when we were young, he let me order him around more." 

Mai laughed. "That hasn't changed, has it, John the free-servant? Let me know if you have need of anything more. It looks to me as though that soldier over there is about to pick a fight with one of our customers. I had better go prevent the city riots from beginning at this tavern." 

Mai left, and I lifted the latch to the door in front of us so that John could walk through. We entered a dark passage that immediately veered off to the left. John turned the corner and then stopped suddenly. "I forgot to ask – do you prefer ale or wine?" 

"I've found myself drawn to wild-berry wine since my return, but I'll drink whatever is in that pitcher." 

"It's ale, but I know where Mai keeps the wine. Guard this; I'll return in a minute." He placed the tray on a small table in the passage, and then disappeared back into the main room of the tavern. 

The passage was musty with the scent of dust and wood. It was as dim as the corridor at the Chara's palace, lit only by a small window facing south. I went over and rested my arms on the windowsill, listening with half an ear to the muffled sound of voices that were raised and then subsided. Mai had evidently been able to prevent the fight. 

Idly, I gazed out on the open square behind the tavern. I had never seen it before, of course; the houses surrounding it had all been built since the fire. Looming over it was Capital Mountain. I thought I could see, well hidden by summer foliage, a bit of red stone that might have been the gods' house. Then my gaze drifted down the mountainside: to the priests' house, to the trees that hid the cave, to the city wall at the other end of the square, and, finally, to the charred remains of a tree trunk standing in front of the wall. 

I do not know at what moment I realized where I was. But after a time I found that I was frozen, reliving in my mind an earlier square, with flames surrounding it on all but one side. The flames touched my mind and burnt at it with the fire of remembered death and lost hopes. Within a short while, I could not bear the images brought forth, so I stared instead at the blackened tree marking the tunnel. John and I might have escaped through that tunnel – we might have helped my mother escape through it – if only the god had placed us under his care that day. 

The dark hole of escape grew in my mind as though it were something greater than a simple tunnel. Soon the flames were gone, the tavern was gone, and all that I could see was blackness. 

"I've sometimes wondered whether what happened that day was my fault." 

The voice drifted to me through the blackness. I was already vaguely aware that I had been standing in the dark for some time, unwilling to return from it to the pain of my memories. But the sound of John's self-judgment jolted me back to the tavern, and I found myself still standing by the window, my head cradled in my arms. 

I raised my head and looked at John. He was gazing unwaveringly at the scene before us, but his fists were clenched tightly against some enemy. As he saw me look his way, he let his hands grow loose and said, "I don't think the soldier had any immediate plans to harm you. If I'd talked to him rather than trying to kill him, I might have been able to persuade him to let you go." 

"John," I said firmly, "there is a time for talking and a time for fighting, and that was the time to fight. You're in no way to blame for what happened." 

"Blood must sometimes be shed, I know," said John, "but talking is more likely to bring peace." He turned abruptly and picked up the tray. I followed him to a door at the end of the passage and walked beyond it into the next room. 

The sounds from the main room of the tavern subsided to a whisper as the door closed behind us. The only sound which greeted us here was that of Brendon, who was speaking, with long pauses between his sentences, to five men seated at a table. They made no move as we entered the room, but one of them looked at John, a couple gave the free-man's greeting, and the rest nodded their welcome. Then their attention was focussed back on Brendon, who was rubbing his bloodstained bandage as he spoke. 

John ushered me into the one of the two remaining chairs at the table, poured me a mug of wine, and began refilling the other men's mugs with ale. Brendon paused again in his narrative, this time with a small gasp of pain. John glanced toward him before continuing to make his way around the table. 

"You aren't badly hurt, I hope?" said a man sitting next to Brendon; he was wearing the dark clothes of a trader. 

Brendon gestured toward John. "John says I'm not, so you may be sure that I'll heal. I'd have been glad to have my arm cut off if I could have accomplished my goal, which was to save a man who had just been stabbed by a soldier and who was too badly hurt to move. But by the time I'd killed the soldier, it was too late: the flames had reached the man." 

John finished pouring the ale for the others and went over to the window opposite me, where he placed the tray. He took up the remaining mug and poured himself some wine, and then stood with his back to the window, watching the others. The man who had spoken before said, "So then you escaped?" 

"Then, as you say, I escaped, and was joined by a lucky few on the road. Soldiers were posted at the town gates, killing the townsmen who tried to leave, but I managed to slip past them." 

"They showed no mercy." A man sitting near the window slammed his mug down onto the table. "It's no more than we might have expected. These Emorians have hearts of stone." 

John did not look my way, but he said quietly from his place of isolation, "What Brendon has told me of Valouse reminds me of a village I visited several years ago. I spoke to a woman who lived there – she was in fact the only person who lived there, for the village had been burnt to the ground by soldiers, just as Valouse was. I think she continued to live there out of sheer hatred of the men who had destroyed the place. She said she had been visiting the city at the time the soldiers came, or else she would have been killed with the other villagers. Just as in Valouse, the soldiers took no prisoners." 

"How can we hope to gain peace with such people?" exclaimed the man near the window. "It seems to me that we should simply destroy the vermin before they spread their poison further." 

John took a sip of his wine before saying, "This particular village was one of the borderland villages in Emor. It was destroyed by the Koretians." 

Silence lengthened. Finally Brendon said, "I fancy it was after you moved out of the priests' house that you learned blade thrusts such as that, John." 

"It was a shock to me as well." John leaned over to the wine pitcher and poured himself another mugful. "It was then I realized that the only way to peace was either for one of our lands to utterly destroy the other, or for the Koretians and the Emorians to speak together peacefully and jointly find a solution to our problems. I think that the gods' peace is more likely to rest upon us if we talk with the Emorians." 

"Speaking of Emorians . . ." The man sitting next to me flashed me a smile. 

"My apologies, Andrew," said John. "I haven't yet introduced my friends. This fiery gentleman near me is Faustus . . ." 

He gave me their names, and the men all greeted me with smiles and friendly looks. It appeared that their hatred of Emorians did not extend to John's blood brother. When they had finished, the farmer next to me raised his mug. "Welcome, Andrew, in the name of the god you worship." 

I raised my mug in thanks, responding, "In the uncomplicated days of my boyhood it was the Jackal that I worshipped, but somehow I do not imagine he has me under his care these days." 

The others laughed heartily at my small joke. The farmer replied, "The ways of the gods are mysterious, and the Jackal may surprise you one of these days. At any rate, he is likely to look with more love upon you than upon most Emorians, who are not even willing to admit that he exists." 

"I met a city court official the other day who was willing to entertain the idea that the Jackal God existed," said the third trader at the table. "But he only wished to do so because it gave him the opportunity to tell me what the god was like. He said he knew that the god was named after the animal, and everyone knows that jackals are cowards and lackeys." 

A roar of laughter went up at this statement. Even John smiled at the tale of the Emorian's impiety as he reached forward to refill the mug of the fiery-spoken doctor near him. Brendon growled, "If he thinks that the Jackal is like that, then the Emorians are bigger fools than I thought. . . . Begging your pardon, Andrew." 

The third trader said, "I didn't conclude from this episode that the Emorians have dull wits, but rather that the god of disguise has done a masterful job at his work. If the Emorians think the Jackal is a mere follower and a recreant, then we needn't worry they will ever penetrate beyond that mask." 

"Oh, it's a favorite occupation of Emorians to speculate about who the Jackal truly is," said the man sitting next to me. "We get soldiers at my market-stall all the time, and they're forever offering theories as to who the man is behind the god-mask. Some say he's an old Koretian soldier, some that he's a trader, some that he died long ago and that only his death spirit now leads the thieves. One soldier even speculated that the governor is the Jackal." 

Amidst the laughter, the farmer said, "If that were the case, then this land would have no more troubles, if the rumors are true and the governor is playing host to the Chara. That would be a nice trap for the Chara to find himself in." 

Brendon drained his ale and added, "John would say, I suppose, that the Jackal should talk to the Chara, rather than kill him." 

"That is the method I would recommend to the god," responded John, coming forward to refill Brendon's mug. "But from what I hear, the Chara is just as stubborn in his beliefs as the Jackal is supposed to be. Such a conversation might bear no fruit." 

"But would be worth trying?" said Brendon, looking up at John. 

"Would definitely be worth trying. However, the Jackal would first have to find a way to lure the Chara to his lair, and that in itself would be difficult." 

This long discussion of the Jackal caused my mind to wander. Any one of these men, I thought, could be one of the Jackal's thieves, and if so, the words I spoke this day might be reported to the man who claimed to be the thief god. I had never known as a child whether my prayers reached the god, and now I preferred to think that the god had not heard them, rather than that he had ignored them. Slowly I began to think of matters I had long ago hidden dark inside me, rather than allow them to pain me. 

I became aware of my surroundings again and realized that many of John's friends had already left. The only men still remaining in the room were John, Brendon, the farmer, and the one man who had not spoken since my arrival nor even looked my way. He was seated in the far corner of the room, close to the window, and John was now kneeling at his side, murmuring something, while the farmer continued to speak to Brendon about the Chara. 

Suddenly the silent man turned his head to look at me, and my throat tightened. 

The left side of the man's face, which I had not seen hitherto, was black and broken and sunken, scorched by fire as the earth is scorched by the sun. The man – his name and occupation had long since fled from my mind – stared at me with deep hatred through the one eye he still retained, but he remained silent, as though waiting for me to make the first approach. 

I said, "You wanted to say something?" 

The mutilated man remained speechless a minute longer, his eye fixed on mine. Finally he said with soft anger, "If I were the Jackal, and I had the Chara in my power, I would not talk to him but show him. I would show him the piles of ashes that still dust the streets after all these years, and the bones that lie in the gutters unclaimed. I would show him the beggars on the streets who still have nowhere to go because they never regained what they lost. I would ask the Chara – I would ask all Emorians – how in the name of all mercy they can claim to bring peace to this land and yet allow such a thing to happen." 

I stared down at my pewter mug, which I had set in the path of the sunlight falling from the window. A bit of the fiery light was trapped in the metal. I reached forward to touch it, but pulled my hand away quickly as the heat seared my finger. Instead, I picked the mug up by its bone handle and drained it. As I lowered my mug, I saw that John was watching me, waiting. 

I said, "I live at the Chara's palace, so I have heard him answer the question you ask. I will not tell you what he said, because I received no satisfaction from his answer, and I doubt that you would either. But I will say that, if you were to show the images you mention to the Chara, I would also want you to show them to the Jackal." 

"The Jackal does not need to be shown," said the man, his voice angrier than before. "He was in the city when the fire broke out, as everyone has heard." 

"That is exactly my point." I looked at the men in front of me. Brendon and the farmer were waiting to see what I meant. John's hand hovered over that of the mutilated man, perhaps in an effort to keep his friend from drawing a dagger against me. The man had opened his mouth to speak again, but he looked over at John and subsided. 

I continued, "I say these words, not as the Emorian I am today, but as the Koretian I once was. I have told you that the Jackal was my god, and because I served him and loved him, the one thing I was certain of on the day that this city was destroyed was that the god would not allow such a thing to happen. It is easy enough for me to understand why a fallible man like the Chara would do something that was wrong, but I have never been able to understand why the all-wise Jackal allowed the Emorians to destroy this city. Either the Jackal is not all-wise or he is not all-powerful – in either case, that is why I found it possible in the end to leave the service of the Jackal and place myself under the care of the Chara. At least the Chara is sometimes willing to admit that he is wrong when he has caused great suffering." 

Brendon and the farmer were looking at each other, and the mutilated man gazed at John. Only John continued to look at me, his black eyes as calm as the night sky. He said quietly, "If the Jackal were here, he might remind you that, since he was in the city that day, he presumably suffered along with the Koretians. But since you no longer serve the god and have not asked for his peace, I will not speculate on what he might say. All I can tell you is the answer I found for myself in the days after the fire, when I too wondered at the mystery of the Jackal's actions." 

He reached down and picked up the wine pitcher, which was carved with the symbol of the tavern. "This tavern is called the Flower and Flame because, like the rest of the city, it grew up out of the ashes of the old city. We can say that it would have been better if the old city had continued to live, and perhaps that is true. But we cannot deny that a new city has bloomed out of the flames, just as a forest regrows after a fire. The fire brought death, but it also brought new life." 

"Then you are saying that the Jackal wanted there to be a fire?" 

I had kept my voice at its usual even level, but I saw something flicker in John's eyes and knew that he had seen beyond my mask to the anger I had long nurtured toward the god. 

John walked toward me from the window, saying, "I doubt that the god created the fire, any more than he creates the blades that men use to kill one another. But since the fire was created, it may be that the god made it his own fire and used it to bring both vengeance and mercy. The fire brought pain and death, and if it had been only men's fire, that is all that it would have brought. But in ways that men will never fully know, the god's fire brought peace as well." 

I stared down at the mug in order to avoid looking up at John, who was now standing beside me, pitcher in hand. I said, "If the Jackal is all-powerful, then I fail to see why he could not simply have given us the peace without making men undergo the pain." 

"I do not worship the Jackal but the Unknowable God, whose thoughts will be forever cloaked to man, so I am unable to understand why the fire has to bring pain as well as peace. What I do know is that the gods give us what we pray for. If your wish is to have peace without pain, then the Jackal will find a way to give it to you. But if you wish to live your life without pain, you must give up everything that might bring you pain. Is that what you want?" 

The room was very still, as though John and I were the only men there. I stared at the sunburst on the mug, and images came to me of the most painful moments of my life: Myself, standing amidst the carnage of the flame-filled square, on the point of being captured. Lord Carle, smiling at me as he prepared to make me his maimed slave. Lord Carle, smiling again as he told me what my punishment would be for running away from him. Myself, staring at the Koretian mountains in the moments before I broke my blood vow to the Jackal and became an Emorian. Lord Carle, staring at the dagger as I placed it against his heart. And finally, an image as terrible as the first one, Peter wearing his pendant and judging me with the cold face of the Chara. 

And it came to me then, with a shock, that if any one of these sufferings had not occurred to me, Peter would not have become my friend. 

I touched the sunburst again, and this time I did not flinch away from the pain it caused. John's voice drifted down to me: "Which type of peace do you want the god to give you?" 

"His fire," I said in a low voice. "I want the god to give me his fire." 

"Then he will give it to you," said John, and leaned over to refill my mug. 

I think Brendon said something thereafter that broke the tension and allowed the conversation to continue. But I did not speak again while I was there. My eyes were fixed on the blood-red liquid that John had given me, and I felt, without knowing why, as though I had just placed myself under the high doom.


	14. The Eyes of the Jackal | 1

**_Blood Vow_ 5**   
**THE EYES OF THE JACKAL**   


**CHAPTER ONE**

"The only way in which to bring peace," said the governor, "is to find this Koretian rebel-leader and kill him." 

We had finished dinner that night in the presentation chamber of the governor's palace. Lord Alan was now occupied with passing around Daxion nuts to the Chara, Lord Dean, Lord Carle, and myself. Upon our first meeting – or so it seemed to Lord Alan – the governor had treated me with the distant dismissal with which he treated the other servants. But throughout the afternoon I had noticed him watching the Chara as he spoke to me, and when Peter, without comment, included me in the governor's dinner party, Lord Alan showed no surprise. He had me placed on the reclining couch that stood next to the Chara's – Lord Alan followed the older custom among Emorian noblemen of reclined dining. From that point on, the governor had treated me with great courtesy. 

Lord Alan poured out a glass of Emorian wine and offered it to me. He had dismissed the slaves from the room earlier, explaining that he could not be sure which of his servants were in the pay of the Jackal. I shook my head, declining the gift. Lord Alan gave the glass instead to Lord Carle, who said, "Whether it brings peace or not, this fellow must be executed. It is an affront to Emorian dignity that he has been able to defy the Chara's commands for so many years. He ought to have been captured long ago." 

"So I thought, when I first became governor," said Lord Alan. "But the Jackal inspires a fanatical loyalty among his thieves. It has proved difficult to send spies to his lair, and those I have sent are killed by the Jackal. Or else – this is far more discouraging – they are converted to his cause." He paused to crunch delicately on a nut. "The Jackal has been making trouble in this land since before the Chara Nicholas even arrived here, yet after all these years, his true identity remains unknown. He is never seen by any but his closest followers without his mask. As for his voice . . . Well, nobody seems to be able to agree on the nature of that." 

Lord Dean peered over his wine glass. "Yet you say that he has become bolder in recent weeks." 

"Yes, and that may be his undoing," said Lord Alan. "Andrew, if you do not care for wall-vine wine, may I offer you some wild-berry wine? I received several casks of it as a gift from some Koretian noblemen who support me, and I am told that it is quite good." 

"Thank you, no," I murmured. "I have no taste for it any more." 

Lord Alan smiled. "A true Emorian. I had no intention of suggesting otherwise; it is just that old customs are hard to abandon. I find myself longing sometimes for all of the ceremonial trappings of Emorian life, though I have been here for fifteen years now. It is hard to adjust to the sloppy manner in which these Koretians carry out their civil ceremonies." 

"I understand that their priestly rites are more impressive," said Peter. He had been scanning the narrow-windowed room with his eye, his gaze stopping now and then on vases, paintings, and gold-tasseled cushions. 

"You may be right, Chara, but I confess that I avoid the god-worship here as much as possible. It is hard for me to comprehend why the Koretians spend all of their time worrying about what the gods want rather than simply obeying the laws." 

"Perhaps that is because they had no laws before we came," suggested Lord Carle, reaching to take another nut from the cut crystal bowl. 

Lord Alan laughed. "Much as it pains me to agree with you, Lord Carle, I think you have wisely hit upon an important point about the Koretians. The Koretians certainly have some noble qualities – that is why it has given me pleasure to govern them for so long – but they have no history of ceremony or law. The result, as one might guess, is that they can be unrestrained in cruelty. This recent incident in Valouse is an example of what I mean." 

A pause hovered, and Peter looked at me as though bidding me to speak. So I said, "From what the High Lord was telling me this afternoon, Lord Alan, I thought that you had not yet determined how the riots began." 

"Quite true, Andrew; thank you for mentioning that. I ought to have said, the incident that caused the town to be in a riotous spirit to begin with. This event happened a fortnight ago, while your party was still on its journey. The incident gives us much insight into the nature of the Jackal and how we may be able to capture him in the end." 

"The nature of the Jackal interests me very much," said Peter, wiping his fingers on the embroidered cloth he had been given. "Any leader who has been able to inspire his followers for so long must be an extraordinary man." 

"The Chara is no doubt right," said Lord Alan, "but I confess that this story makes me wonder instead how the Jackal manages to persuade any Koretian to follow him. Cruel as the Koretians can be, the Jackal seems to exceed them all. What happened in Valouse two weeks ago was that the Jackal murdered a man. This happens regularly, of course. In this particular case, though, the man was no spy of mine, but simply an unlucky Koretian who stumbled upon the rebel-leader's lair." 

"You now know where the Jackal's hideout is?" Frowning, Lord Carle leaned forward quickly. 

"We know only where his hideout was two weeks ago, alas," said the governor. "The Jackal changes his lair regularly. In the past, however, he has usually met with his thieves in isolated locations far from any villages. If he is beginning to set his lair in large towns such as Valouse, it is possible that he will meet with his thieves here in this city. If that happens, I doubt that we will fail to find him. My soldiers are thick on the ground here, and they will be able to detect unusual activity." 

"How did it come about that the murdered man happened upon the Jackal?" asked Peter. He was busy trying to mop up a wine drop that had fallen onto the precious fabric covering his couch. 

"For the most part, we know little about such killings, but in this case we were fortunate," replied Lord Alan. "I have recently sent out a new spy, and while he has not yet become one of the elite who sees the Jackal without his mask, he was able to locate the Jackal's lair one night, and thus was witness to the murder of this poor fellow. It seems that the Jackal had chosen the empty home of a man who was out of town on business, and a neighbor became suspicious at the midnight activity. This neighbor would have done best, of course, to alert the soldiers, but he was certainly brave, creeping up to the house with not even a dagger to protect himself." 

Lord Carle reached out and poured himself more wine from the black marble pitcher. "And did he remain brave once the thieves had captured him?" 

"Surprisingly so, yes, and that is what makes this such a tragic story. The Jackal – who was, alas, masked on that night – at first tried to persuade the man to turn a blind eye to the presence of him and his thieves, at least until the Jackal could move his lair. Now, this man was a Koretian, but unlike many Koretians, he had a great love for lawful order, and he did not hold with rebels who creep around at night stirring up trouble. So he boldly told the thieves that he planned to report them to the soldiers. He said this despite the fact that he was in a room full of brutal and beweaponed men." 

Lord Carle grunted. "I have known brave Koretians, but few that would defend the law of the Chara. It is a pity that this man died." 

"The pity is in the manner of his dying. But I am getting ahead of my story. According to my spy, the Jackal then forced the man into another room and interviewed the man alone for several hours – threatening him or torturing him or whatever the Jackal's methods are." 

"Or perhaps trying to persuade him to join the thieves, as some of your spies were persuaded," suggested Lord Dean, his expression carefully innocent of all malicious intent. 

"As you say, Lord Dean," responded Lord Alan with an amiable nod. "At any rate, the Jackal failed to destroy this man's loyalty – and here is the part of the tale that turns my stomach. Rather than simply kill the man quickly, as any decent Emorian would have done, the thieves turned this into a lengthy, protracted affair, parading the man around the room and making various speeches about why they were killing him and so on. They even went to the length of binding his hands, though, as I have mentioned, they were murdering an unarmed man." 

"And the method of execution?" asked Peter. His finger was running over his dagger sheath, but his eyes were now firmly fixed on the governor. 

"The Jackal stabbed him through the heart, which is at least a humane death, but there is apparently a reason for that as well. My clerk has turned up information about a superstitious legend connected with the Jackal God – something to do with goats, I believe, but I couldn't quite follow what he was saying. At any rate, it seems that this man who calls himself the Jackal has adopted the method of murder preferred by the Koretian god. Otherwise, I am sure, he would have found a far more painful way of killing his victims." 

The room was silent but for the echo of the governor's soldiers drilling outside in precise order. Peter, reaching vaguely forward to put down his glass, balanced it on the edge of his table, and the glass shattered on the mosaic tiles below. 

"I beg your pardon, Lord Alan," said Peter. "I did not mean to mistreat such a beautiful and precious item." 

Lord Alan waved his hand in the air, either in graciousness or to prevent a blood-fly from landing in his wine glass. "It is a small matter, Chara. I received these glasses as an inheritance from my grandmother, but the cups are fragile, so I have gradually lost most of them over the years. Would you like another glass?" 

Peter shook his head. His gaze drifted from the governor to Lord Carle and finally rested on me. Lord Alan, following his gaze, turned to me and said, "I know that you have been Emorian for many years, but I am sure that you heard stories of the Jackal when you were a boy. Can you give me insight into why the Koretians would support such a bloodthirsty man?" 

Lord Carle, I saw, was watching me with narrowed eyes. I said in an impartial voice, "When I was a boy, I did not hear stories with as much detail as you have just given us, Lord Alan. But I suppose that if you were to ask a Koretian what made him obedient to the hunting Jackal, he would say that the ways of the gods are mysterious." 

Lord Alan smiled with all but his eyes, which remained watchful. "I am glad you have told me that. I imagine it must be an important fact, and it makes me regret that I have not learned more about the local religion over the years. What do you think of Andrew's idea, Chara?" 

"I fear that I too am ignorant of religious matters," said Peter. "But I do have one circumstance in common with the Jackal, and that is that I must place some of my people under the high doom. I have no doubt that many of my subjects over the years have been mystified by how I act when I wear the Pendant of Judgment. So, while I am fascinated by the story you have just told, I am forced to agree with Andrew that the true nature of the Jackal remains a mystery." 

Lord Alan's smile disappeared for a moment, but the next moment he was cheered as Lord Carle began giving his opinion of the terrible weather in Koretia. 

o—o—o

"Did you mean what you said about the god, or did you simply not wish to answer Lord Alan?" Peter asked. 

We had returned from dinner and were standing in the Chara's guest chamber. I helped Peter to remove his sheathed dagger as I said, "I'm not sure. The story he told was certainly disturbing, and it makes me wonder about the motives of the Jackal. But I can't help but feel that the governor, or his spy, is looking at the Jackal through a mask whose eyeholes are too small for him to see the full view. Something is missing in what he told us, something that might better explain who this man is. As to whether he is a god . . . Well, I believed so as a boy, and as Lord Alan says, it's hard to abandon old customs." 

Peter undid his belt and collapsed onto the couch. "Staying in this palace has made me regret one old custom the governor holds to," he said. "I refer, of course, to his decision to build a palace with tiny windows in a land where the slightest breeze can mean the difference between life and death. I'm thinking of spending this hot night on the balcony. Will you join me there?" 

"Gladly," I said, "if you don't think that the governor would be shocked that your servant is spending the night in your outdoor sleeping chamber." 

"He doesn't seem very shocked by you, does he? He was quite friendly to you tonight." Peter watched as I silently began to gather up the luxurious cushions and blankets that covered the bed. "Putting aside for the moment the mysterious Jackal, what do you think of our equally mysterious governor?" 

"I think," I said precisely, "that he doesn't like Koretians, no matter what he may say about their noble qualities. This makes me wonder why he was so friendly to me tonight." 

"Yes," said Peter, reaching down to touch the alabaster legs of the couch. "Of course, I'm used to watching my subjects try to befriend you in order to persuade you to tell them my secrets – a device I would have thought they would have long since realized was futile. Lord Alan, though, seems to have a special talent for congeniality. I spent much of this afternoon listening to him tell me how much he loves the Koretians. Later, I overheard him telling Lord Carle what barbarians the people here are. And from what Lord Dean has reported to me, it seems that the governor has already guessed that my High Lord is interested only in political expediency and has conversed with him in that fashion. This alone would be enough to worry me, but my breath was taken away tonight by Lord Alan's ability to satisfy all three of us at once. I suspect that we are dealing with a dangerous man." 

"I wonder what his true face is under that mask?" I asked. 

"If you're right in thinking that he hates the Koretians, then he may be most himself while talking to Lord Carle. As for Lord Carle, he has reached the pinnacle of happiness in finding someone who will talk to the end of time about the barbarity of this land." 

I made no reply. Instead, I gathered up the blankets and cushions, and then went out to the balcony to arrange our beds. Peter followed me there and leaned over the balustrade, looking out at the darkened city. From this vantage point we could peer over the palace wall and into the market area. Seeing Peter scan the view, I came over to stand by him. 

"John's house is over there," I said, pointing to a rooftop that was nearly hidden by the surrounding houses. 

"John," murmured Peter, and I wondered whether he would refer to their confrontation that afternoon. But all that he said was, "How long has he been married?" 

"He didn't say. It can't have been very long; Ursula looks as though she has recently come of age. I was surprised to see that John had a wife. When he was a boy, he used to talk as though he would never marry." 

"I suppose that it's easy to change one's mind on such a topic." Peter pushed back a forelock that had become plastered against his sweat-wet brow. "And in these matters, a great deal depends on finding the right woman. It appears that your blood brother has been lucky in that regard." 

"You think so?" I was feeling the heat around me, warm and comforting like a childhood blanket. Distantly I remembered the cool air of Emor, the chilling breezes that blew through the windows even in the middle of summer. 

But all that seemed far away. "What did you talk about with Ursula?" I asked. 

"Oh, this and that. We found that we had more in common than I would have thought. Her mother died in childbirth and mine while I was still in the nursery, so we both grew up without any women in our lives with whom we had strong ties. I've always considered women to be a mysterious race; it was pleasant being able to chat with one for a while. It took my mind off my problems with the Jackal." 

As though on cue, a cry drifted faintly across the city, cutting through the sound of the cicadas. It was a thin, hoarse, and chilling sound, like the desperate cry that a dying man might make. I saw Peter's hand travel swiftly to his side before he remembered that he was unarmed. He asked abruptly, "What is that?" 

"The jackal," I said. Then, at his sharp look, I added, "No, not the god; the god is always quiet. That sound comes from the animal which the god is named after. It hides by day and hunts by night, in packs or pairs or alone. It feeds on the dead." 

"So," said Peter quietly. "The Jackal has named himself well. I wonder who the hunting god is hunting tonight." Without saying anything more, he turned and left the balcony. 

I lingered where I was, staring down at the uneven rows of houses and the horizon-bound sea of trees beyond. The cicadas sang without pause, like an endless rush of waves, and I felt starting within me a pain. As yet, the pain had no name, and I instinctively knew I did not wish to name it. I turned away and walked rapidly back into the Chara's chamber. 

There I found Peter talking to a Koretian man. 

"This is the spy whom the governor mentioned tonight," Peter told me. "He tells me that, as Lord Alan had hoped, the Jackal has moved his lair to somewhere in the city." 

"Where, I do not yet know," said the man softly. "But I have received a summons from one of the thieves to visit the Jackal tonight, and then I will find out. Lord Alan had asked me to try to discover the true identity of the Jackal, but since I have not been able to do so, he has decided to have his soldiers attack the lair. The thieves have managed to slip away in such situations before, but they may not be able to do so here in the crowded city, where so many people can note their movements. I have promised to send the governor news by night's end if I can." 

"It is brave of you to undertake this task," I said. 

The spy smiled and nodded his thanks. "You are Koretian-born, sir, so you will understand the difficulty I had in deciding where my loyalties lay. But if the Chara were to end his rule here, this land would dissolve once more into terrible war. I hope to do what I can to help prevent that." 

"So the governor may give us news of peace by tomorrow," said Peter. "That would be a welcome change." 

The spy said, "Peace is what this land needs more than anything. Even the Jackal would agree with that." 

o—o—o

I woke with a start the next morning. Opening my eyes, I found that I was sitting straight up as Peter gripped my shoulders and stared gravely at me. For a moment, all that I could see through the lingering traces of fire was the Chara, the vengeful ruler of my people's enemy. Then Peter slid back, resting himself on his haunches and regarding me silently. The present returned to me like a rush of cold water, and I buried my face in my hands. 

After a minute, I looked up and said, "I ought not to have slept beside you this night." 

"It's nearly dawn in any case." Peter's golden hair was tousled and dark with moisture. The dawn air could almost be called cool, but several hours had passed before either of us had been able to sleep in the heavy, heated air that we found even on the balcony. 

I pulled back the light silk sheet I had thrown over myself the previous evening and said wearily, "I don't understand why I continue to have this dream. I've found my blood brother alive; I thought that the nightmare would end." 

"I thought that it would grow worse," said Peter. 

I looked over at him. He was sitting on the floor of the balcony, peering between the balusters at the ground below, where the soldiers were outdoing the birds with their boisterous calls to one another. 

He met my eyes finally. "I didn't want to take you on this trip, Andrew. I knew that it would be hard for you, returning as an Emorian to Koretia. And now you've found your blood brother, and your loyalties are torn even more, like those of the spy we met last night." 

"I made my decision long ago," I said. "You are the one I chose as my master, and John understands that." 

"That doesn't make it any easier for you." Peter ceased looking down at the ground and slid himself around so that his back leaned against the balusters. "Curse those soldiers. They woke me long before your dream did, what with their clattering and shouting. . . . Andrew, I didn't want to pain you by bringing you here, but I very much need your help. I can't rule the Koretian people without knowing what is best for them, and I can't know that without understanding who they are. You are the only one I know who can tell me – unless I were to meet the Jackal himself, but that will never happen. I like to dream of the Jackal and me meeting under a peace oath, negotiating peace terms as one ruler does with another. But I cannot negotiate with a rebel; that would be as though I signed my approval to his law-breaking deeds. The Jackal and I will never come face to face unless he is my prisoner, or I am his. Therefore, you are my ambassador to and from the Jackal, showing me what sort of man he is." 

Peter's face glowed on one side with the early light. Behind him, the land still lay mostly in shadow, dark and quiet before sunrise. I said, "Chara, you know that I would do anything for you; I would give you my life if you wanted it. I'm not sure I can help you with the Jackal, though. I've never understood the gods, not like John does, and the god taken human form baffles me. I don't know whether, if I met him, I would raise my hands in worship or whether he would prove to be an ordinary, vulnerable mortal." 

"Well, if John knows the gods, then it is to John we must go for answers. That is what I don't like about this business: sending you to your blood brother as a spy." Peter slid forward onto his knees and began folding up the blankets. "I hope that our ever-friendly governor doesn't curse me when his slaves tell him what we have done with his precious Emorian cloth, placing it on this dirty balcony. I need the governor's good will today, for I'll be spending several hours going through his documents, trying to find the clue that will help me sort out what to do in this land. And I suspect that if the governor has miraculous information that would help me, he'll want to keep it to himself. It will be a tedious task, reading document after document, and you would be better occupied going down into the city and discovering what you can from John." 

For once I allowed the Chara to be his own servant. I stood up and leaned over the balcony railing, seeking out a small breeze that had managed to crawl its way into the city. The streets below had begun to stir with activity: the stall-keepers were opening the market, the taverns were taking in a few early customers, and the traders wound their way between the shops. I asked, "Couldn't Lord Dean help you find what you need?" 

"Lord Dean is always trying to take my decisions into his own hands. I'm not saying that he's disloyal, but he doesn't like following my orders, and he would make an easy tool for the governor to twist. I've had enough of my spies corrupted without having to place a council lord under the high doom for disobedience. While here, I will seek the assistance only of those I can absolutely trust, such as yourself." Peter pushed the blankets through the doorway into his room, and then came to join me by the balustrade. Looking out, he said, "It's a beautiful view. I'm glad that I overcame the governor's objections to my taking the one guest chamber that has a Koretian-style balcony. Shall we see whether Lord Alan's cooks have begun their work? Afterwards, we can go our separate ways." 

When we reached the presentation chamber, we found that we had been preceded by Lord Dean and Lord Carle. Lord Carle was addressing the High Lord with raised voice. As we entered, the council lord broke off, staring at me with a furious expression. Then he bowed to Peter and said, "If the Chara will excuse me," before leaving the room in a rush. 

"Has Lord Carle encountered a new form of Koretian barbarity that he dislikes?" I asked. 

"I think that Lord Carle has left because he would prefer to give his opinion on Koretian barbarities to Lord Alan rather than the Chara," replied Lord Dean dryly. "The governor's free-servant just brought us news. A man was found on the palace grounds this morning, stabbed through the heart." 

Peter was mute a moment before saying, "The spy?" 

"The governor doesn't seem to have much luck with his spies. The soldiers who found the body believe that the spy was not killed on the spot, but that the body was brought here from elsewhere. A bold move, even for the Jackal. But the Jackal may have had a bold purpose to his move. The body was found under the Chara's own balcony." 

Peter reached out and poured himself the last of the Emorian wine from the night before. "Well, then," he said, "I have narrowly missed my one opportunity to meet the Jackal. I suppose that this is the Jackal's way of sending me a message." 

"It may be that the message was intended for the governor, whose room is close to yours," said Lord Dean. "But it isn't a comforting thought to know that the Jackal and his thieves were prowling the grounds while we were peacefully asleep. It is possible that the Chara ought not to have come to Koretia." 

"It is possible that you are right, and it is possible that you were right when you told me this back in Emor. I am here now, though, and the best I can do is try to ensure that I do not become the Jackal's next victim." Peter stared reflectively into the air as he swirled the final golden drops of wine in his glass. "I am not going to give up the only room in the palace that allows air in. If the Jackal did not try to kill me last night, I doubt he will try to do so tonight or the night after. But to allay the fears of you and Lord Carle, I will ask the governor to post guards at my door and under the balcony." 

"Just be sure that the guards aren't in the pay of the Jackal," said Lord Dean. "The Jackal often does his dirtiest work from within." 

Peter put his glass down abruptly and stared at the pitcher. "He failed to succeed in corrupting the governor's new spy, anyway. Whatever this Jackal is, it seems he cannot respect another man's loyalties. If the spy's murder was a message intended for me, I doubt I will have much to say to the Jackal in the future."


	15. The Eyes of the Jackal | 2

**CHAPTER TWO**

Dawn had broken by the time I reached John's house. Dodging in between two boys who were carrying an armful of dead hens to a merchant's shop, I made my way to the door and knocked. 

Ursula answered my knock. She had a blanket tossed over her body, and I caught a glimpse of her shift under it. I stepped backwards and said stiffly, "I did not mean to wake you and John from your sleep. I will return later." 

Ursula shook her head, gazing at me from under sleep-sanded eyelids. "Come in. John will be glad to see you this morning." She held the door open wide. After a moment's hesitation, I stepped in. 

The house was empty but for Ursula. She stepped into the sleeping alcove, drew the curtain, and said from behind it, "John has been out since before dawn. We heard a rumor from a neighbor that there had been a murder in the city, so John went to see whether there was any truth to it." Faintly, through the outline of the curtain, I saw her abandon the blanket and reach for clothes. I hastily unshuttered the street window and seated myself there with my back to the curtain. 

Ursula emerged soon after, dressed and holding in her hand a pitcher of wine and two cups. "Do you still like wild-berry wine?" she asked. "I've heard that all the Emorians think it tastes like poison." 

"I told the governor last night that I disliked it, so that he would not doubt my loyalty as a true Emorian. But while my loyalty is sworn to the Chara, I fear that my body has never agreed to my oath. I hate Emorian winters, and I still love Koretian wine." 

Ursula laughed and poured the wine for us before curling herself into the windowseat, opposite to me. Beside us, we could see the early-morning carts rattling over the stone-studded dirt path, on their way to the market. 

We watched the city people for a while before Ursula said, "John and I talked once of going to live in Emor. He thought it would be easier for me there – that not so many people would hate me. And I was curious to see what life there was like. But John has his work here, and he wasn't sure it would be any better for me in Emor than it is here." 

"He was probably right about that," I said. "Most Emorians hate Koretians just as much as most Koretians hate Emorians. In any case, it would be hard for you to become accustomed to life there." 

Ursula tilted her head, a strand of black hair falling over her pale cheek. "Was it hard for you? I know that you love the land now, but you came there as a slave, and that must have made it hard for you to like the Emorians." 

I watched with half an eye the familiar tapestry of city life: a small girl accompanying her mother to the market, laden down with a woven blanket that her mother intended to sell there; two small boys challenging each other to a dagger duel, and then looking cautiously around to ensure that adults were standing nearby who would stop them if they fought too hard; an Emorian soldier watching the boys' play with a look of disapproval. 

I said, "When the soldier first took me prisoner, I tried to kill him – not only because of what he was doing to me, but because of what he had done to John and my mother. I think I will never hate anyone as much as I hated that soldier. Later I tried to kill the slave-seller to whom the soldier sold me. Then that man sold me to another slave-seller, and I tried to kill one of the seller's assistants. After that— After that, I decided to wait until I was a man and then take my vengeance." 

Ursula was listening carefully to me, but she had dipped her head so that her hair covered her eyes. I had carefully kept all bitterness from my voice, but now, staring at her bowed head, I continued more gently, "Then, one day when I was older, I tried to run away from the master I'd been sold to. I was caught and beaten, and I think I would have died from that beating except that the Chara convinced his father to buy me. So my life was saved. About a year ago, I did something foolish that could have cost me my life, and again the Chara came to my rescue. But even if he hadn't done these things, I would remain oath-sworn to Peter because of who he is." 

Ursula had gradually raised her head as I spoke. Now her face brightened and her hands burst forth into the air. "I don't think I've ever met anyone like your Chara. At first I thought of him only as a mighty conqueror who had done much harm to Koretia, but he spoke to me as though I were an old acquaintance instead of a common half-Koretian girl. He seemed like any other man I have known when he talked of how hard his life was when he was a boy, and how much your friendship meant to him. It was only later that I remembered he was the ruler of an empire and could execute any man or woman under his care. It was as though I had been talking with a god." 

"Emorians don't regard him as a god," I said, "but he is the man who wears the face of the Chara, and that amounts to the same thing in the end. I know that the Koretians think the Emorians are impious because we don't have priests or goat-sacrifices or god-masks. But we do have the laws of Emor, and they are reverenced as much as any god could be. The Chara is the embodiment of the law. His task is to make sure that Emor's law is upheld, and he must do this at any cost, no matter what the pain to him or anyone else. If he went against his duty, it would be a kind of blasphemy to us. And that's hard for Peter, because he isn't a god but just an ordinary man." 

Ursula considered this, her face turned to watch the passersby. Then she said with a sudden fierceness, "No one should have to bear that kind of burden. It isn't fair when the gods ask that of men." 

So distant was she in her thoughts that I reached out and touched her hand lightly. She turned then with a smile, as though I were a lover calling her name. "But he has you as a friend. At least he isn't lonely." 

"I don't know whether he is." I leaned back quickly to my side of the windowseat, keeping my eyes fixed on her. "I suppose I know the Chara as well as anyone does, but even to me he is something of a mystery. He's like the Jackal that way." 

"The Jackal." Ursula sighed. "I think the Jackal should just talk to the Chara and bring about peace in that way. They're both wise masters – I'm sure they could find an answer to Koretia's troubles. I told John this once, and he said he doubted that the Chara would be interested in speaking to the Jackal because the Chara believes him to be a rebel rather than a god. But now that I've spoken to the Chara myself, I think John is wrong. I'm sure the Chara would be glad to speak with anyone who wanted to talk with him." 

I had a sudden memory of Peter, standing a while before, speaking lightly his words of anger. This image halted my thoughts long enough that, before I could reply to Ursula's words, the door opened and John entered. 

He paused at the threshold as he saw me. He was wearing his night-dark tunic again, but as before, he bore no weapon. Slung over his shoulder was his satchel; he turned to hang this on the wall. "You're awake early." 

"As are you, it seems," I said. "Ursula told me why you were out." 

John glanced my way, and then turned his attention back to the satchel. 

"Did you find out whether the rumors were true?" asked Ursula. "Was a man killed last night?" 

John walked over to the table nearby and put his fingers lightly on the pitcher, tilting it so that he could see the purple-red liquid inside. "Rumors are still winging their way around the city. It's hard to say what happened." 

He did not look up as Ursula came over to his side. But as she placed her cup of wine in front of him, he smiled at her. "I'm very hungry. Do you think you could persuade that crotchety laying hen of yours to give me an egg for my breakfast?" 

"I will go whisper pretty words to her," said Ursula. "Some bread is left from yesterday if you'd like that." 

As Ursula went into the garden, John walked over to the food box. Ignoring the knife sitting there, he tore off a chunk of bread from the hard loaf and brought it back to the table. He sat down in front of the bread, stared at it, and then picked up Ursula's wine instead and began sipping it. 

I started to speak but stopped, going instead to sit opposite him at the table. He did not look up as I seated myself, but he said, "If you've come from the palace, then you already know. Brendon told me when I met him this morning at the market." 

"What did Brendon say?" I asked carefully. 

John did not seem to notice the phrasing of my response. "No more than what he heard from the supply-keeper. He said that the man was evidently murdered by the Jackal, that he was the governor's spy, that he was a Koretian, and that he had taken the work, not out of greed or disloyalty to Koretia, but because he believed that Emor's rule kept peace in this land." He continued to stare down at the knothole in the rough planks before him as he added, "It isn't my business to ask this of you, but what did the Chara say when he heard of this?" 

I was silent a moment, then took the pitcher from next to John and poured myself another cup. "He was very bitter. He said that the Jackal ought to have respected another man's loyalty." 

John raised his eyes slowly to meet mine. "Well, then," he said, "the Chara and I are of one mind for once. This murder sickens me, not only for what happened here, but because such things have been happening more and more during the last few months. Have you heard how the riot started in Valouse?" 

"No," I said. "The governor doesn't know how it happened." 

"Brendon knows; he was there. No Emorians were involved at the start. It was a fight between Koretians, arguing over whether one of the Jackal's recent murders was justified. When I told you things had grown bad in this land, this is what I meant: if these murders don't end, we won't need the Emorians to kill us all, for we will be able to do it ourselves." 

"If people are questioning the god's way," I murmured, "then matters are truly bad for Koretia." 

John placed his cup on the table with great care. "I am one of those who is questioning the god." 

I waited, watching my black-eyed blood brother who could look into the air and see images I had never seen and hear voices that few men had ever heard. Behind us, in the garden, I could hear the faint voice of Ursula as she cooed at the hens. John rose smoothly and unhurriedly, collecting the cup in his palm, and went to stand by the street window, his back facing me. 

He said quietly, "The Jackal God issues his commands to the Koretians and says this man should die or that man. It was bad enough when Emorians were dying, some of them good men, but now the god has decreed that friend shall betray friend and brother kill brother. If the god can speak to us to command us, why can't he explain to us what the reasons are for his commands? For I do not understand why the hunting god has chosen to hunt his own people." 

I stood up from the table and went over to John. Through the back window I could see Ursula on her knees, leaning over to smile and cluck at a hen. I began to walk in front of John, but something held me back. Standing behind his shoulder, I said, "John, you've always been the one who has visions of the gods, and I can't help you to understand why they act as they do. But Ursula and I were speaking just now of the laws of the Chara and of how they are to the people of Emor what the gods are to the Koretians. So I'm reminded of the one time in which I disobeyed the command of the Chara, and how I almost killed an unarmed man as a result. If the Chara had explained to me the reason for his command, I wouldn't have believed him, for I did not yet know how dark my temper was. The Chara knew better than I did what I should do, and if I had simply trusted him, all would have been well. So perhaps you should accept that the gods know what they are doing when they issue their commands, and trust them." 

John stood for a while looking at the street or the gods or nothing – I could not see his eyes. At last he said, "Will you excuse me for a minute?" He went out the back door without looking my way. 

After a while I looked through the back window and saw him standing with his back to me, talking to Ursula in the chicken coop. I could not hear what he was saying, but he was evidently telling her of the murder, for her head hung low. Then I saw her nod, and John gathered her into his arms. I turned away. 

When John returned to the house, he was alone. He said, "I've decided to go up to the priests' house until this evening. After today, I don't know when I will be able to go there again, for the danger is too great in this city for me to leave Ursula alone any more. I don't want to leave her alone even for this one day, so would you be willing to stay with her until I return tonight? It is much to ask, but you are my blood brother, and I know that you will keep her under your care." 

"The Chara has no need of me today, so I will stay," I said. "It is very little to ask from a blood brother. Make your peace with the gods." 

o—o—o

Late afternoon light soared lazily through the street window, bounced off the windowseat, and landed assertively on the wooden floor of the house, where it took its rest. I was sitting on one of the benches, having vacated the windowseat in favor of Ursula, who was stretched out there as she mended a gown. She had a tendency, though, to jump up every few minutes and chase a spindle of thread that was trying to make its escape. 

She reached over now to grab the spindle, which was teetering hopefully on the edge of the windowseat. As she did so, she asked, "What else did the Chara do for you?" 

She had nearly drained me dry of anecdotes about the Chara by now. I ventured further into the dark passage of my memories before saying, "One incident I learned about years after it happened, by way of Lord Carle's free-servant. It occurred a few months before the Chara's enthronement, when he was still Lord Peter. It seems that Peter tried to convince Lord Dean and Lord Carle, who were in charge of arranging the enthronement, that I be allowed to take part in the ceremony as a representative of the palace slaves. Both lords said no, of course, and since they had to give a reason why, they argued that only free-men could attend the enthronement. I suppose they believed that it was too sacred a ritual to be attended by mere slaves, though that didn't keep the High Lord from ordering that the slaves work till dawn three nights in a row to prepare the Court of Judgment and the rest of the palace for the ceremony." 

Ursula jerked the gown she was mending to one side, which caused the spindle to jump hastily from the windowseat. Having released her frustration in this manner, Ursula let the spindle lie where it was. "Did the Chara know about this?" 

"Not until afterwards; then he was furious. But that's not the end of the tale. Peter was still being tutored by Lord Carle during the previous winter, and Lord Carle asked him, as a final exercise, to prepare a sample proclamation making a major change in the interpretation of the law. The way that such proclamations are written is that the Chara lists firstly his interpretation of the law-structure, which is the base of Emorian law, then the relevant court cases, then his reasons for desiring a change, and only in the end does he announce what change he is making to the law. So Peter was able to read his proclamation all the way to the end, with Lord Carle nodding his agreement the whole way through, before Lord Carle learned that Peter interpreted Emorian law to say that slaves are a category of free-men." 

This time the gown slipped to the floor as Ursula bent over and buried her face in her knees to smother her laughter. My own expression remained serious. I waited until her mirth had subsided before I added, "It wasn't so amusing an incident, actually. Lord Carle punished Peter by making him spend a week in his quarters, memorizing a series of unimportant laws." 

"But Andrew, just _think_ of what Lord Carle's face must have looked like when he realized that he had been fooled!" 

My gaze drifted away from Ursula. I stared at the thread wound tight around the spindle as I said in a detached tone, "I would rather not think about it. If you had ever seen Lord Carle when he was angry, you would understand what I mean." 

For a minute, the only sound was a rustle of cloth as Ursula bent down to retrieve the gown. Then she said in a hushed voice, "But the Chara says that the only way to deal with Lord Carle is to keep your sense of humor. He says that, if you can do that, then you find that Lord Carle really is not—" 

The rest of her sentence was cut off by a series of thumps at the door. Before I could stop her, Ursula poked her head out the window. She said calmly, "It's a soldier. Perhaps it's a message for you from the palace." 

"Do you want me to answer the door, then?" 

"Please do," she said. "My Emorian is good enough for me to understand what other people are saying, but my grammar is atrocious. John has always wanted to teach me how to speak properly, but he has never had the time." 

I got up and walked toward the door, reflecting, as I did, that we had spent all day talking about me, and I still knew almost nothing about John's wife. Surely, I thought, I ought at least to ask her about her blood kin. She could not take offence at such a question if it came from an Emorian. 

I opened the door and was forced to step back hastily as I was nearly hit in the face by the soldier standing there. His flustered look told me that he had merely been preparing to knock louder. He was perhaps forty years of age and wore the blue-border trim of a subcaptain, but he looked as nervous as a suitor meeting his beloved's father as he said, "John the trader?" 

"No," I replied with my usual coolness. "My blood brother is out for the day. Would you like to speak to his wife?" 

He looked uncertainly from me to Ursula. She, having chosen not to speak, was communicating with a broad and friendly smile. "I'm not sure," the subcaptain said. "The trader said that John was the man I should speak to." 

"The trader?" 

"A Koretian by the name of Brendon." The subcaptain was still running his eyes over me, obviously trying to ascertain both my land loyalty and my rank. "I met him at the army headquarters; our supply-keeper buys goods through him regularly. I got to talking—" He stopped, and then suddenly gave a sheepish grin that made him look very young. "I got to shouting, actually, about all the ways in which the Koretians are ruining this land. I thought he was going to challenge me to a duel for a while there. Then he suddenly laughed and said that the person I should be speaking to was John the trader – that John was an expert on such matters and could tell me whether my ideas had any worth." 

Standing a few feet behind me, Ursula said in Koretian, "Invite him in, Andrew. John always listens to anyone who is troubled with a problem. He wouldn't want us to send the soldier away." 

Seeing the subcaptain's blank expression as Ursula spoke, I thought to myself that part of this land's troubles might come from the governor's army officials not knowing the native tongue. I raised my hand in the free-man's greeting and said, "My name is Andrew, and this is Ursula. You are welcome to come in if you would like to wait a while for John. I am not sure how long he will be." 

I had made the free-man's greeting without thinking; here in Koretia, even the most snobbish nobleman would hesitate before rejecting such a greeting from a lesser free-man. Already I had forgotten what it was like in my adopted land, and I was momentarily puzzled as the subcaptain began to raise his hand, and then let it fall. I opened my mouth before closing it quickly again. Even in Emor, the question of my rank had never been fully settled, so there was no way I could advise him on this matter. 

The subcaptain covered his own confusion by saying as rapidly as he could while I closed the door, "I am Gladius, Subcaptain of the Koretian Army under Captain Malise, lately of the Garrison of Valouse." 

Ursula's smile dropped from her face like a leaf torn from its branch by a chill winter wind. The subcaptain noticed this and hesitated on the point of sitting down. I said dryly, "Then you are fortunate that Brendon chose not to challenge you; he is lately of Valouse as well. Please be seated, Subcaptain." 

Gladius's gaze remained on Ursula, who had turned away to busy herself with the kitchen items at the far end of the room. "Yes, that was where our argument began. He had only the town dwellers' perspective on what happened; I had only the soldiers' perspective. I suppose that we both came to a better understanding by the end of our conversation. But he was unable to change my mind on one belief: that the Koretians don't have the capacity to rule themselves." 

I glanced over at Ursula, who was on her knees digging into the food box, seemingly oblivious to what was being said. "That has been our view for many years," I said. "I fail to see why Brendon would be surprised to hear this from yet another Emorian." 

The phrasing of my reply reassured the subcaptain. He lowered his voice and said in a conspiratorial tone, "Yes, but _why_ are the Koretians incapable of ruling themselves? That is the important question. The people of this land are intelligent and brave and hard-working – any fool who has been stationed here more than a year can see that. And there is no truth to the idea that the Koretians are too violent and lawless to keep civil war from breaking out if we left. That may have been the case in the past, but they have learned since then how to rule their passions through use of the law. If the Emorians disappeared tomorrow, the Koretians would still be clamoring to use the courts." 

"So what is the problem?" I asked, leaning over the table so that I could hear better Gladius's low voice. 

"_Who would be High Judge?_ That is the real problem." Gladius leaned back, satisfied at having brought the first part of his argument to a close. I could imagine him as a court official, carefully delineating the sections of a trial. 

Raising his voice to be heard over the clatter of carts making their way home from the closing market, Gladius said, "Let me tell you what happened at Valouse. After that Koretian was murdered a couple of weeks ago – you know all about that, of course? – we had near-riots for three nights in a row, what with Koretians fighting one another over what had happened. We kept having to arrest people, and the town court was clogged with prisoners – not to mention the fact that many soldiers were wounded while making the arrests. Finally, my captain, who is a very wise man, went to the town councilmen and told them that either the Koretians could arrest and try their own prisoners, or the next time a riot occurred, he would treat it as an act of war and would have his troops cut down the offenders on the spot. So what do you think the Koretians did?" 

"Leapt with excitement at the chance to have their own court system, I should think," I said, seeing that this was the answer expected of me. 

"Of course they did! This is what they have been claiming all along, that they could rule themselves better than we could. Naturally, if that had been true, we would have let them do so long ago. The Koretian courts ought really to be run by Koretians, the Koretian army by Koretians, and so on – that is how the Chara usually rules his dominions. But every time the governor starts making appointments like that, some trouble arises: a Koretian captain refuses to fight in battle unless his units are given a god's blessing, or a Koretian judge transfers a case over to a _priest_, of all people. Religion always destroys the Koretians' chance to govern themselves." 

The sun was beginning to draw its light away from the window. I shifted myself so as to remain in its warmth. "Is that what happened in Valouse?" 

Gladius shook his head. "No, we were plagued with a different problem there. Everyone knows of the Koretians' odd ideas about religion, but nobody has thought about the fact that the Koretians have not ruled themselves for fifteen years. They have no knowledge of what it _means_ to rule rather than be ruled. They—" 

He checked himself, looked over at Ursula, who was wiping some dishes clean, and lowered his voice again. "Here is what happened in Valouse. First, the town council appointed one of the town dwellers to be the Koretians' town judge. By a miracle, they picked a good man: a ground-poor peasant, but one who had been a Koretian council lord in the old days. These days, he lives by begging, as far as I can tell. I asked him once what happened to his fortune, and he laughed and said that he gave it all away because he did not want the governor thinking he was one of the Jackal's thieves. He is full of odd statements like that, but is otherwise a sound man, and he made a wise judge. But then he had to leave town after several days on business, so the town council appointed a new judge. That one lasted two days, and then he quit. The next one lasted three days, and he quit. Meanwhile, matters were growing worse and worse in town, until the riots finally came, and the captain did as he promised, and now every Koretian says that we are to blame for what happened." 

The floor beneath us was beginning to turn ruby-colored under the evening sun. For the first time I noticed that the soldier's dusky tunic had been gashed around his midriff and then sewn up again. A stubborn black stain remained around the edge of this gash, and the tunic bulged with the outlines of what I guessed to be a hidden bandage. 

"Why did the Koretian judges quit?" I asked. 

"Have you ever been a judge? I have – I was judge of the army court at Valouse, and I had to hand judgment down upon my own men on more than one occasion. Until you have held an appointment like that, you have no idea how hard it is to try your own people and endure their hatred and ridicule if you decide that they deserve punishment. It is easy enough for the Koretians to say that they could do better than the Emorian judges, but once they were given the opportunity, they could not bear the burden that it entails." 

An image drifted into my mind of Peter, standing under flickering torchlight with dark circles under his eyes, struggling to retain the dispassionate face of the Chara and judge me without favor. And I remembered how I had been sick with cold loathing at what he was doing and had refused to help him in his lonely task. 

"It is a hard role to play," I murmured. 

"It is a very hard role, especially that of High Judge. Have you ever read the passage in the law books on the burdens of the Chara? It is enough to make you weep. But someone has to take on the duty, and not a single man in this land exists who has the courage to do so, except maybe—" 

He stopped. Those who have worked in the courts know how to use a dramatic pause to their advantage. I noticed that Ursula had been wiping the same plate for several minutes. As for myself, I was quite content to offer the requested prompt. "Who, then?" 

The subcaptain suddenly grinned again. "This is the point at which that trader Brendon laughed, and I cannot blame him. I would have laughed too if any Emorian had suggested this to me. But I have thought this through a lot, and I believe that the only man in this land who knows how to be High Judge is the Jackal." 

Ursula began moving again, placing the dishes back into a pile, perhaps because it was growing too dim to see them well. I said, "Yes, I imagine your suggestion would cause great mirth among the soldiers. What made you decide this?" 

"Well . . ." Gladius leaned forward and lowered his voice again. "I and a few other army officials in Valouse were granted access to a report about how the Jackal's murder took place. I am not permitted to tell you what the report said, but it is a lot like the other stories that have circulated about how the Jackal kills his victims. You have undoubtedly heard a few of those – we all have. Most of my fellow soldiers have no idea what to make of the strange ritual that the Jackal does through whenever he kills a man. The most common explanation is that it is some sort of forbidden religious rite. But what it sounds like to me is a trial." 

"A trial . . ." I said slowly, my thoughts going back beyond the episode at Valouse to an incident in my childhood. "You mean a trial by Emorian law, I take it." 

Gladius nodded enthusiastically. "You have the judge, the witnesses' evidence for both sides, everything that you would find in an Emorian court. I cannot imagine what gave the Jackal the idea of trying his prisoners in the Emorian manner, but it says something about the man that, even in running a rebellion, he would try to give his enemies some sort of justice. And it says even more, I think, that he would judge one of his own people, as he evidently did in Valouse. It means that he is willing to bear the burden of punishing those who are under his care. _That_ is the sort of man who should be Koretia's High Judge." 

Having reached the climax of his argument, he stopped uncertainly as Ursula appeared at his side and placed a cup of wine before him. He looked from the cup to her smiling face and said, in very bad Koretian, "Thank you, madam." 

"You are welcome, sir," Ursula replied in equally bad Emorian. "Would like you food also? Are hungry?" 

The watchman's call drifted in through the window. Gladius shook his head and drained his cup before rising. "I need to get back to my men," he said to me in Emorian. "I am trying to keep them busy in order to keep them from wandering out into the city and pick fights with the city dwellers. Tell me, sir – do you live in the city, or are you just here on business?" 

"I am here on business; my home is Emor." 

"Well, then . . ." Gladius, reaching the door I had opened for him, looked over his shoulder at Ursula, who was taking the cup to the back of the room. Looking back at me, he said, "If this trader John is your blood brother, then I suppose that you consider blood-kin ties to be as important as any Koretian does. I am indebted to you for listening to me spout out my theories; now I will be able to keep my mind clear for my work. If your blood brother and his wife should need anything—" He stopped, and then said in a lower voice, "I cannot promise anything, but if there should be a riot, they can go to the army headquarters and use my name to receive entrance. That might save them from the worst." 

I leaned against the door. "Subcaptain, if more men like you were stationed in Koretia, I doubt there would be any riots." 

Gladius smiled, but said seriously, "I am not as sure about that as you. These Koretians have their own ways of doing things, and I am beginning to doubt that we will ever be able to civilize them to Emorian ways, not in any complete manner. To continue trying to do so might be as unwise as trying to tame a wild dog." 

"Or a wild jackal?" I said. 

Gladius laughed. "I have never heard of a tame jackal. I respect the rebel-leader, but on my honor as a free-man, each time I hear a new tale about the Jackal, I have to go read a few Emorian laws to purge myself of this land's savage ways. I suppose that only someone who grew up in Koretia could ever be completely at home here." Then he took a second look at me, stopped in confusion, began to give me the free-man's greeting in farewell, stopped again, and finally turned and walked rapidly away. 

I leaned against the doorway, feeling the warmth of the evening lulling me to sleep.


	16. The Eyes of the Jackal | 3

**CHAPTER THREE**

It was not fire this time. It was darkness deeper than I had ever known. The silence beckoned to me like the whisper of a lover; the blackness caressed me with its hands. No fire here, no blood, no pain – just a serene peace with no price. No price at all except— 

It entered the edge of the darkness like a ripple spreading over dark water. At first I tried to ignore it, to concentrate my thoughts on the stillness of the remaining dark. Then I identified the sound: a young woman was crying. 

Painfully, like a swimmer rising from the depths, I pulled myself out of my utter-black shelter and lay for a moment, remembering where I was. Then I rose from the bed and pulled back the curtain to the alcove. 

The house was now dark with night, but a hearth-fire still scattered a red glow upon the main room. Ursula was standing in front of that fire with her hand stretched forward to touch a mask. She was speaking softly to the mask, and there were sparks of light on her face where the tears had travelled. 

She saw me immediately and jerked away, so that the mask fell to the floor, nearly landing in the fire. I walked over and picked up the Jackal's mask, replacing it on its hook as Ursula watched silently. 

"I didn't mean to interrupt you," I said. "I suppose that you and John aren't the only ones in this land praying for peace tonight." 

"I suppose not," Ursula said in an unsteady voice, wiping her nose with the back of her hand. I wondered whether she expected me to take her into my arms and comfort her. 

I turned away and walked over to the window. Pulling back the shutter a crack, I stared out at the street. It was lamp-lit under the shine of the war moon, which was high in the sky. 

"What time is it?" I asked. "I didn't mean to sleep so long." 

"The watchman called the midnight a little while ago," Ursula replied, going over to pull a twig broom from the corner. "Do you see anything?" 

I shook my head and barred the window-shutter once more against intruders. "The city gates will have closed by now. John must have decided to spend the night at the priests' house." 

"John is like that," Ursula said, pausing in her sweeping to lean her cheek against the handle of the tall broom. "One time he went to the priests' house for what he said would be an hour, and he ended up spending a week there. I'm used to being alone anyway, since his work takes him away so often." 

"He doesn't want you left alone tonight." I considered Ursula as she guided a small pile of dirt toward the edge of the room. We had spent the evening discussing the Chara's palace, and Ursula had plied me with questions about life at my home. I had told her of the inner garden, the Chara sitting in the Court of Judgment, the slave-quarters, the lords who lived in the palace, the Map Room and Council Chamber, and the tiny windows. I was surprised to realize how much I knew about my adopted home, and even more surprised to discover that my memories had a distant feel to them, as though I were describing a foreign land I had once visited. 

"Ursula, I'm going to have to take you to the governor's palace tonight," I said. "The Chara is expecting me to return, and we'll be safer in the palace in any case. I'll leave a letter for John in case he arrives back here before we do." 

Ursula looked for a moment as though she were going to argue. Then she swallowed her protest. "John has his paper and quill in that box over there. I'll pack some of my things." 

I sat on the windowseat, my cheek brushing the shutters, and scribed my letter to John. As I finished, I looked up and found Ursula beside me, a small pack slung over her shoulder. Her face was in shadow to the firelight, and she said nothing. Suddenly, she seated herself next to me and put her hand over mine. "Andrew, there is something I must tell you, now, while John is away." 

I quickly extracted my hand from hers and rose. She remained on the windowseat, staring up at me through her dark eyes set in a moon-bright face. 

"I don't keep secrets from John," I said. Then I added, "I didn't know that you kept secrets from him." 

"Andrew, we all have secrets we cannot tell those we love. John rarely tells me what the gods say to him when he goes to the priests' house, and this is something I could not tell you if John were here. I am one of the Jackal's thieves." 

I looked at the delicate creature before me and felt an impulse to smile. But she was watching me soberly, so I said, "Ursula, the Chara is my master. You ought not to have told me this." 

"My own master bid me to. The Jackal wishes me to take you to see him tonight. He has a message for the Chara." 

I felt the blood suddenly thump through my body in a slow, sickly manner. I said tersely, "The last man who visited the Jackal was murdered." 

She smiled then, her pale skin easing back into its usual lines of laughter. "Andrew, I don't even have to ask the Jackal to know that he means you no harm. He wouldn't kill the messenger when he needs so badly to send the message. He sees as well as the Chara does that things cannot continue as they have, with the Jackal fighting the governor, and the governor trying to root the Jackal from his lair. The Jackal won't speak to the governor, but he'll speak to the Chara because he knows that the Chara would rather have peace than war. You are the only way that the Jackal can tell the Chara who he is and what he wants." 

I said slowly, "The god would reveal his human face to the Chara?" 

"He has said that he will. But he must meet the Chara in order to do so, and you are to arrange the meeting. Will you come with me?" 

She was sitting weaponless in front of me, but so strange were the words she was speaking that I felt compelled to ask, "Do I have any choice?" 

"The Jackal said that you were not to be brought by force, that you must come willingly. Andrew, I can't bring you on any night but tonight, while John is away. Will you come?" 

I walked over to the hearth then and touched the mask of the Jackal. I could go to the Jackal now without asking the Chara's permission, and perhaps bring peace and perhaps bring greater trouble to Peter. Or I could go back to the Chara, leaving Ursula unprotected. Or I could take her with me by force to the governor, and then watch as she was arrested so that she could be tortured into revealing the Jackal's whereabouts. Or I could lie to Peter. 

Ursula was waiting, and as I glanced her way I saw that her eyes were filled with uncertainty. A curse rose in my mind against the Jackal, so cold and dispassionate a god that he would put a young woman in danger's way. Yet the same god had said that he would reveal himself to the Chara, and I remembered Peter's questions through the last few days – to John, to Lord Alan, to me. All of those questions had been aimed at discovering what sort of man the Jackal was. 

Finally I said, "The Jackal ought to have arranged that I could ask the Chara first what I should do. But the Chara told me today that he wanted me to be his ambassador to the Jackal, so I will take that as his permission, and hope for the best." 

Ursula came over to my side and placed her hand on my arm. "You won't regret it, Andrew, I promise you. The god's ways often seem harsh, but he is always right in what he does, and he brings not only peace to this land but also peace to the heart of those who know him. I have found that, no matter how much I suffer in following his commands, it is worth it all to have heard the voice of a god." 

o—o—o

A short time later, any gods looking down upon us could have located us winding our way through the dark streets of Koretia's capital. 

Ursula guided us faultlessly around the patrols of the city watchman and the governor's soldiers. As a slave I had been taught to move quietly and unobtrusively, but Ursula flowed from one doorway to the next as though she were a night shadow, and my spine began to prickle as I realized that I was indeed in the presence of one of the Jackal's legendary thieves, a creature who could enter locked houses, steal past guarded doors, and murder a nobleman in his chambers while his servants slept nearby. 

She still wore no weapon, and I found myself wondering what she would do if we were sighted. Then I started to round a corner before she did. The next moment she had slammed me back into the shadows, hissed, "Stay!" and walked around the same corner herself, singing lightly under her breath. 

Startled by the strength of her shove, I stayed in the shadows as I heard a man say, "Ursula, my dear, what are you doing out at this hour? Where is your husband?" 

I ventured to peer round the corner and saw Ursula standing with her hands on her hips, merrily looking up into the face of the city watchman. "And where would any man be at this hour, Druce? I have come to drag John away from the Flower and Flame to the bed where he belongs." 

The watchman gave a hearty laugh. "At work all day and up all night? That sounds like John the trader to me. I have never seen him when he did not look weary to the death. Here, I will escort you to the tavern, as I think that John is unwise to leave his pretty wife alone when other men may sneak into his bed while he is gone." 

Ursula made no protest, but took the arm that the watchman proffered and disappeared into the tavern I had visited that noonday. After a minute the watchman left, and after several minutes Ursula slid out of the doorway and slipped, quick as moonlight, back to where I stood. 

"That was lucky," she said under her breath. "The tavern-keeper's daughter there is one of us; she listens in on the conversation of traders like John so that she can obtain information for the Jackal. She told the watchman that John was in the back room." 

John's name rose to my lips, but I whispered instead, "How did you learn to lie so well?" 

"It isn't easy for me," she replied. "But whenever I'm working for the Jackal it seems as though he's with me, guiding what I do." 

She said no more, for we were still in the open street. I silently followed Ursula, taking care not to outpace her again. As we went, I found myself wishing that John were here with us. As Brendon had told the subcaptain, it was John who could best judge what sort of man the Jackal was. 

Was the Jackal really a god, as I had always thought? Or was he just a man who used trickery to convince his thieves that he had divine powers? John had heard the gods' voices in his visions and would know in an instant whether the Jackal actually held the god's powers, but what proof should I ask of the rebel-leader? 

The tavern was not far from the city wall, and there we stopped, sliding our way down into the ditch. A prickling in my back began once more as Ursula guided me to the shallow hole under the wall. This time I was being mastered, not by fear, but by memory. 

The hole had grown smaller since last I encountered it, or so it seemed to me, but I could still wriggle my way through. Ursula caught hold of my hand as we emerged into the shadowed side of the mountain. I followed her as she ducked her way across the governor's flower bed and through the trees, until we had reached the clearing in front of the cave entrance. 

She stopped then, sat down abruptly on a flat rock in the clearing, and said in a low but relaxed voice, "We must wait until I see the signal that the Jackal has arrived in his lair." 

I glanced at the cave entrance, and then looked back down at the wall we had just emerged from. "I've been through that tunnel before." 

"I know. John told me how you used it when you were boys, so I searched it out, and now all of the thieves travel by it when they can't come in through the city gates." 

I set aside an unpleasant vision of the thieves shoving a dead body through the tunnel and turned my gaze back to the dark hollow before us. It was the cave, I realized – the Jackal had made his lair in the cave where the Chara Nicholas had hidden his soldiers. The cave was close to the city but not within the regular patrolling ground of the mountainside soldiers – at least, not if the governor's subcommander ordered the patterns of patrolling I had known as a child. So unless the thieves did something to attract the attention of the border guards within the cave, they would not be found. 

I asked, "How is it that you've been able to keep your thieves' work from John?" 

"If you mean, how do I keep him from suspecting, that's easy enough, for the Jackal only gives me work when John is away on business. But if you mean, how can I stand to keep such a secret from the one I love . . ." She drew up one knee against her body and placed her chin on it. Her eyes were fixed, not on the cave, but on the mountain slopes above. "It was one of John's trader friends who came and told me that the god wished to see me. The Jackal has many traders among his thieves because traders learn what happens in Koretia before anyone else does. John's friend told me that the Jackal had already called John to be one of his thieves, but that John had refused. So, since the Jackal could not have John, he sent his summons to me." 

Ursula's eyes remained fixed on the mountain but she hugged the knee closer, as though trying to shut out some pain. "It took me three days to decide. I couldn't imagine lying to John, yet I couldn't imagine refusing the god. Finally I told the trader that I couldn't be sure of what to do until I spoke to the god himself, and the Jackal accepted me into his presence on that condition." 

"And is he a god?" I said, finally putting the question to voice. 

"I knew that he would be, but if I had had any hidden doubts, they were destroyed when I first saw the Jackal. He was standing there staring at me through his yellow eyes and smiling at me with his terrible teeth, and I knew that it was just a man wearing a mask, but I knew too that it was the god's mask, and that the god himself was there in the room with me. I could feel his power, and it was the power of the Jackal who kills his enemies without mercy and suffers wounds for his servants. I knew at that moment that I was right to come, so I pledged my loyalty to him, and I will always be his thief, in life or beyond death." 

My breath hit the back of my throat as I watched her staring outwards, as I had seen John stare many times before, his eyes filled with visions of the gods. But Ursula, I knew, was not the type to see hidden visions. She believed she had seen the god in human form, and soon I would see this man too. For a moment, I lost all thought of the Chara. 

Ursula added, "Later I realized that, by serving one of the gods whom John loved so much, I was really remaining loyal to John. It surprised me—" At Ursula's sudden silence, I looked up toward the mountain just in time to see a faint flicker of light, gone at once like a star falling from the sky. Ursula stood and said, "They're waiting for us." 

She took my hand and we began travelling, not toward the cave, but toward where the light had flickered. The ground was black with shadows, and once again I lost our track and gave myself over blindly to Ursula's guidance. We wove in and out of trees and bushes, and between rocks, and I stumbled so often that I began to keep my eyes on the ground, seeing only my own feet and Ursula's. After a long while, she stopped. I looked up and saw a door. 

My back began to sting again as Ursula opened the door of the gods' house. As we walked into the dark corridor, I caught a glimpse of some figures standing at the other end of the house. Their faces were in shadow, but the moonlight trapped itself on metal that one of the figures was holding. The blade shone for a moment like a piece of the sun. 

Ursula tugged at my hand, and she began guiding me through the corridor I would have forgotten long before but for my dream. She reached a door, then hesitated and touched my hand before saying, "He is here." 

I stepped into the room alone and heard the door close behind me. My mind was still filled with the vision that Ursula had just given me of her god, but my first impression, as I entered, was that I was here with no god but just an ordinary man. He was sitting on the windowseat, with his legs drawn up and his left arm hanging down loosely by his side. His head was turned to face the view. He looked in every respect like any man whom I had seen in Koretia, but dangling from the fingers of his left hand was the god's mask, with its fierce promise of death or deliverance. I stared a moment at the bright paint on the black cloth. Then my gaze rose from the golden hunting eyes of the thief god to the dark, dispassionate eyes of John.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [_A note from Dusk:_ So as not to leave readers hanging at an awkward point when I take my holiday break later this month, I'm pausing briefly here in my serialization of _Blood Vow_. I'll begin posting the final section of the novel on the first weekend of January 2020.]


	17. The God's Land | 1

**_Blood Vow_ 6**   
**THE GOD'S LAND**   


**CHAPTER ONE**

I suppose that what I ought to have felt was anger and doubt: anger that I had been deceived, and grave doubt that the Jackal was anything more than the human rebel-leader that the Emorians had always thought him to be. For a moment, indeed, unidentified emotions twisted about in me, striving for mastery of my will. I stared at John, sitting quietly on the windowseat, his face as blank of expression as the mask of the Unknowable God. He was watching me steadily through his black eyes which, I told myself, were no god's eyes, but only the eyes of the blood brother with whom I had grown up. 

He did not move. And yet, as I watched, his face changed, taking upon itself the mask of the Jackal: the sharp teeth that chewed on the flesh of the dying and dead, the sensitive whiskers, and the hunting god's eyes. John's own eyes were still there, calm and unknowably black, the eyes that had never changed no matter what roles he played in life: the vengeful eyes of the warrior as he prepared to kill the soldier, the loving eyes of the priest as he sought peace from the gods, the watchful eyes of the trader as he listened and weighed in his mind what to do. Now, though, they were surrounded by the golden eyes of the Jackal: the eyes of the God of Vengeance, the eyes of the God of Mercy, and the eyes of the God of Judgment. And I knew in that moment that John's eyes had always been those of the god. 

The power Ursula had said she felt was too strong for me to bear. As the mask faded away, leaving only John's face, I addressed not the god but my blood brother: "I knew that you weren't the sort to break a blood vow." 

The tremor of a smile passed over John's face and was gone again, as quickly as the wind in a Koretian summer. His eyes remained serious. He gestured with his hand, and as I had done fifteen years before, I came and joined him at the windowseat. He was wearing the same Jackal-black tunic he had worn earlier, and he still bore no weapon. 

"Some vows deserve to be broken," he said, "but I have always tried to obey the will of the gods. So when the god summoned me to become his thief, I obeyed; and when the man whose form the Jackal had taken died of old age, the god called to me again and bid me to wear his mask and speak his words. And since then the man named John has been united with the god, and through both my human powers and my godly ones I have striven to bring vengeance or mercy to this land, as is needed." 

His voice was as quiet as it had always been, but it sounded through the room like the whispering edge of a wind that can bring down forests. My throat tightened, and I searched John's face, uncertain now of what creature I was seated beside. "I don't understand," I said. "Are you John, or are you the god?" 

For a moment he was silent, and through the window came the faint sound of a jackal's howl, nearly lost in the camouflage of the cicadas' chatter. When he finally spoke, his voice was soft. "That isn't a question I can answer in words. If you wish, I can show you through the manner in which I speak. Or if you prefer, I can do for you what I do for most people I meet: I can submerge my powers deep within me so that I am nothing more than a man. If all that you want from me is the blood brother you once knew, I can give you that. You need never see the god in me." 

The moonlight fell carelessly upon us, and then spilled onto the floor of the sanctuary, broken only by the black outlines of our bodies, falling like death shadows before us. I stared at the floor of the gods' house, remembering a scene two days before, when John had seen my face take on a hard mask he had never known. He had accepted me then for what I had become. I said in a low voice, "I would never ask you to be anything other than what you are, John. Even as a child, you were different. The Chara asked me what kind of man the Jackal was. If only I had thought more clearly, I could have told him." 

"I tried to tell him myself, when we spoke." John's gaze drifted back to the still mountainside and the city and the country beyond. "I tried to make him see what danger this land faces, but some things John the trader could not tell him, because these things are known only to the Jackal and the governor and a handful of others. War will come here in days, not weeks or months, and when it comes, every man and woman in this land will either kill or die. I have done my best in the past to allow the people's rage to be channelled into my small thieveries, but now, through my murders, I have brought about a state of fear and hatred so great that every Koretian must choose whether to be loyal to me or to betray me. For my people seek blood, and I have chosen to give it to them." 

The hair on the back of my neck stood up as John spoke the words that, a few hours before, he had ascribed to the god whom he could not understand. He turned his head back toward me, and his gentle eyes had not changed, any more than they had changed when he tried to kill the soldier. But as I watched, the black eyes burst into golden flames like those of the Jackal's fire that had once eaten the city. 

This, then, was what John had offered to hide from me: this terrible union of godly certainty and strength with human doubts and weakness, a union which had always existed potentially within him and which had now reached its full power. 

It is no small terror to find oneself in the company of the hunting god. The only fate worse is to find him embodied in one's childhood friend. I remembered John staring with dark vision at the dagger that had nearly killed the Chara's son, and I said hoarsely, "Jackal, what do you want with the Chara?" 

The flames faded, and as they did so, I felt the power that accompanied them disappear from the room like smoke from an absent fire. The Jackal had reined in his powers, the god was now deep inside, and all that sat next to me was a young man who said quietly, "Not his death, I hope. I'm bound by my vow to bring peace to Koretia, but if I can do this without killing the Chara, I will. He is your wine-friend, and even if he weren't, it's better that Koretia should live in harmony with Emor than that we should gain our freedom through bloodshed. That's why I wish to meet with the Chara: so that I can convince him to free this land." 

"John," I said tentatively, feeling it easier to address the man than the god, "you're asking me to act as ambassador for the Chara, but you must know that when I return to the Chara, I'll tell him who you are before he ever sees you, and then he may or may not choose to use that information against you. Why have you appeared to me unmasked?" 

I waited apprehensively to see whether the weaponless peacemaker I had known would speak further of blood. But he must have decided that his earlier words had been demonstration enough of what he now was, for he said simply, "Andrew, you are my blood brother. I could have appeared to you in the god's mask, as I appeared to Ursula when I wanted to be sure that she would become a thief out of more than love for John the trader. But it seems to me that the time for secrets between us is over. I won't hide any more from you what I am, nor will I command an Emorian in the voice of a Koretian god. I give you the god's command through the request of your blood brother: that you hand the Chara over to me." 

A heartbeat's pause followed before I said firmly, "I cannot do that." 

"I don't see how you can," he replied. He looked back again at the land outside, grey as ash after a fire. "I can't ask you to choose between your friendship to the Chara and your friendship to me, and yet you must make your choice, for there is no other way that I can meet with the Chara as the Jackal." 

"Come with me to the palace," I said. "Come with me and tell the Chara who you are in private. He'll listen to what you have to say." 

"And if he doesn't agree to what I want, what then? Will you give witness for me at my trial for my murders? Will you stay beside me as they slowly break my body for my treasonous acts?" 

Out on the mountainside, the howl of the hunting jackal cut off abruptly at the same moment that my breath did. I opened my mouth to reply, but already John was saying, "I'm sorry. It's not you I'm angry with, but the Emorians, for infecting this land with their brutal and godless ways. That spy I killed had been too long around the Emorians and refused to believe I held the god's powers – and without some small portion of belief in him, he could not deem that what he saw came from the god. The Chara won't believe in my godly powers either, not unless he is a man very different than I take him to be. And if I am not a god-man, then I am no more than a murderous rebel, a man whom no ruler of any sense would negotiate with. He won't negotiate with me if I come with you, and he won't come to me if you tell him who I am." 

I sat with my back stiff against the window jamb. "You misjudge him, John. He may come." 

"I can't take the chance, Andrew." Something new and hard had entered into the tone of John's voice. It reminded me of how Peter spoke when he was in judgment. "If you leave here tonight and tell the Chara who I am, and he has me arrested rather than talk with me, then war will come. And when war comes there can be only two ends: either we will kill the Emorians and gain our freedom, or the Emorians will kill the Jackal, and his people will be put to the sword. I can risk my own death, but not the death of this land." 

I placed my hands over my face, as I had every morning after dreaming of the death of this city. Then something about John's stillness made me look up. He was watching me carefully, and for the first time his eyes were guarded. I put my mind to what he had said, pursued the unspoken words, and said slowly, "The Jackal won't allow me to leave here and betray him." 

"No, I will not. If you cannot serve me, then you must be my captive." He paused and searched my face again, as I had seen the palace slave-keeper search mine before he beat me, in order to decide how much punishment I could bear. Then, in the dispassionate voice of a judge pronouncing sentence, he said, "Ursula knows that you are my blood brother, so she did not think of one thing when she brought you here. The Jackal is always in danger when he makes his lair, either in caves or in taverns or in the empty house of a trader who has gone away on business. But I and my thieves are in greatest danger here, close to the city. The governor is so eager to find the Jackal's lair now that we will not be able to stay here more than a day or two longer, lest the soldiers find us, and when we leave, we will be on the move from then on, for war is close at hand. When we leave, we will take only what we can carry, and when we leave, we will not be able to take prisoners with us." 

He turned his head then, and I somehow knew that this time he was not staring out at the land, but escaping the look in my eyes as he spoke his final words. 

Had he spoken those words the previous day, I would have felt deathly sickness in my spirit. But since that time I had spoken to the subcaptain, and he had brought together images in my mind that had been separate until then. Now, as I looked at John, I could think only of the Chara as he judged me under the flickering torchlight and spoke the words that cut deeper into him than into me. 

When John finally turned back to me with his steady gaze, I said, "That's why you went to the priests' house today." 

Something flickered in John's eyes, and the shallow guard he had placed against my next words disappeared, as though he had expected any statement but this. "You told me to trust the god," he said simply. "So I went to the priests' house and spoke to the Unknowable God who had refused to tell me why I must fulfill my blood vow to him by luring and perhaps killing my blood brother. I told him that I would do as he wished, without any questions. And then he gave me the understanding I had sought before. If needs must, I will kill you to save my land, and you will die rather than betray your own land. In doing so, neither of us will break the vows we made to each other. I still love you, and we will always be blood brothers, beyond betrayal and beyond death." 

The night was very quiet. Outside the door I could hear a rustle that might have been the thieves, awaiting the results of their master's interview as they had waited the night before and two weeks before that. Down the slope of the mountain I heard the low, muffled boom of the priests' bell as it called the hour. And at the foot of the mountain, past the wild-berry bushes and the golden cave, I could almost hear in my mind the light chatter of Koretians in the city market and tavern. 

I said, the words bitter on my tongue, "You are right when you say that I cannot choose between you and Peter, between the Jackal and the Chara. I love you both and will always love you, whatever I do to you or you do to me. But one thing you have said falsely tonight: that I love Emor. I have never loved Emor, only its Chara, and so I will betray the Chara because it will save my land." 

Then I hung my head, and for a long while there were no words between us, only John's hand on my arm.


	18. The God's Land | 2

**CHAPTER TWO**

Some time later, I sat in a windowless cell, resting on a thin pallet upon a stone bed. A wooden, candle-lit table stood next to the bed, holding the dinner which had been brought to me but which I had not touched. As I stared blankly at the wall, seeing nothing but darkness ahead of me, a soft knock came at the door. I mumbled something unintelligible. The door opened a crack, and I caught sight of pale skin and dark hair. 

I beckoned, and Ursula entered, shutting the door behind her. She seated herself beside me, bit her lip, and then burst out, "I'm so sorry, Andrew." 

I looked at her, and some tenderness that she seemed to bring out in me caused me to force a smile and say, "At least I once again know how I love this land, and that's something that I hid from myself for too long. It's good to be home again. I've missed the smell of wild-berries." 

Ursula looked at me, and then at my abandoned dinner plate. Without a word, she reached past me to take it and hand it to me. 

I bowed my head to her in obedience and forced myself to eat the food. She did not speak until I was finished, when she said, "John and the others have gone into the city to spread word among the thieves there of what will happen. John believes that kidnapping the Chara may itself provoke the war we expect, and he wants his followers to be prepared. He said that you wouldn't be leaving until the morning." 

I placed the tin dish back upon the table. "John told me that it would be better to carry this plan out by daylight, when the Chara would be less likely to suspect danger. And I told him that, though I was known in the Chara's palace for my discretion and impenetrable thoughts, I doubted I could deceive the Chara for an entire evening. Peter was my only friend for many years, and he knows me too well." 

Ursula sat with her arms hugging her legs. "I wouldn't have wanted to be you, having to choose between blood brother and friend. It's a choice that would have driven some men mad." 

"Perhaps it would have, if I'd been forced to make it as a boy." I stared at the corner of the cell where a bit of candlelight had become caught in a spiderweb. "I owe Peter the gift of teaching me to love when it is painful, but I owe this much to my previous slave-master: he taught me to do everything else when it is painful. I feel as though I've been dropped into a bottomless pit, but I felt that during my time as Lord Carle's slave, and I knew then how to do my duty." I closed my eyes; little changed from the darkness I had seen before. I added quietly, "All these years, I've been troubled at night by a dream of the day when I left Koretia. I watch my mother die and my blood brother die, and I lose all my blood kin. Since then, Peter has been my kin, and I may have to watch him die as well. . . . I don't think I'll ever dream my old dream again, but I think this will be a sleepless night in any case." 

I felt Ursula stir beside me. Fearing that my words were bringing her pain as well, I opened my eyes and tried to look at her in a reassuring manner. Her usual quick movements were stilled, as they had been during our first exchange, as though she were controlling some deep emotion inside her. She looked quite young, and I reached out to touch her, placing my hand on hers. 

She spoke then, very softly. "Andrew, I've had bad dreams about my mother too for many years. Mine are about the manner in which I was begotten, though of course I didn't see it happen. When I wake from these dreams, it has always been a comfort to me to find myself beside John and know that he is there and that I can hold him until I stop being afraid. Would you like me to stay with you tonight?" 

She intended to say more, but I jerked my hand away from her at these words and turned to face her on the bed. Startled, she did not speak as I said stiffly, "Ursula, I do not know what you are offering me when you say that. If you are telling me that I may sleep with you tonight as a brother sleeps with his sister, then I thank you. But if that is not what you mean—" She tried then to speak, and I held up my hand to stop her. "If you mean that I should sleep with you as a man sleeps with his lover, then you should know three things. One is that I have come to see you as a friend. The second is that I would not break my blood vow to John by making love to his wife. And the third thing— The third thing is that I could not if I wished to. I am—" I stumbled, looking for the words I would have prepared before, if I had not blinded myself to the necessity of this moment. "I am not capable of loving a woman as a man ought to. That power was taken from me when I was sold into slavery." 

I thought at first that I had been too subtle and that I would have to explain further. Then she swallowed hard, and her eyes dropped. I waited, my heart beating, to see what her expression would be when she raised her eyes again. When she looked up, her gaze was as firm as John's, and her voice was gentle. 

"Andrew," she said, "you know that the love of a man and his lover isn't the only strong love in this world. You love John, and you love the Chara – they are both your friends, beyond death. Why should you think that it would be any different for women? I have fallen in love and wished to be kissed and to be taken to a marriage-bed. But that isn't how I love you, and the love I have is no less powerful because of this." 

I could not speak for a minute. Then I said, "Is it because John is my blood brother that you care for me?" 

"Partly." Ursula bowed her head, and her hair fell down so that her face was hidden. She said, "Is it so hard for you to understand? I don't suppose many men can feel friendship toward a woman, but women often feel that way toward a man, whether the man knows it or not. What I feel for you is no different from what you feel for your blood brother." 

I reached out and pushed back her dark hair from her eyes. She looked up silently. I asked her, "Is there such a thing as a blood sister?" 

A smile trembled on her lips. "I've never heard of such a thing. In any case, I'm afraid of blades." 

"Blood vows don't need blood to take place. I like the thought of gaining you as a sister, and if you'd like this as well, I could be your blood brother." 

She moved suddenly, as though the great emotion she had been controlling was suddenly released, and her hands flung open in an eager gesture. "Andrew," she said breathlessly, "you've never asked me how I met John." 

I waited, wondering what revelation would appear next. Her body swayed to and fro on the bed as she said, "I never knew my father, nor have I ever wanted to meet him, because he raped my mother during the Border Wars. After I was conceived, John found my mother and arranged for her to be cared for by the priests at their house. John cared for her as well, treating her as though she was his own mother. Then, when she died after I was born, he took me under his care, and I was like a younger sister to him. That has never changed." She paused, but I did not say anything, and so she continued, "Since we aren't truly brother and sister, we decided, when he first brought me to live with him in the city, that we must pretend to other people that we were married. So I've played the role of John's wife during this past year, though I've never loved him in that way, nor he me. I—" She hesitated, as though she were entering into dangerous ground, and then said carefully, "I'm capable of love of that sort, but I'm not sure that John is. He's like the priests, who never marry but dedicate their lives to the gods. I think also that his friendships are too powerful to allow him ever to form any other type of bond – especially his friendship with you. He told me several years ago that it was hard for him, not being able to help you when he cared for you so much. He told me—" Her movements stilled gradually, as though she were a fluttering bird that had come to rest on a branch. She said softly, "He said that was his first reason for taking care of me – that since he couldn't help you, he could at least help your sister." 

I stared at her as she waited in silence for my reply. My training in silence overruled my voice, and I asked no questions but sat mutely, trying to understand what she had said. Into my mind drifted the image she had just given me, of John reaching out to help Ursula's mother, who had been left half-dead by a soldier. And beside it came a second image that had haunted me for so many years: John lying still next to the body of my mother, who had just been raped. 

"She was alive," I whispered. "The soldier tried to kill her, but she lived. The soldier—" 

I stopped abruptly. Ursula was once more hugging her knees. She stared at me silently with dark eyes, her pale face fringed with black hair. It was, I saw now, the face of my mother. But it was also the face of the Emorian soldier who had enslaved me. 

I realized then why Ursula had not told me before. 

I reached forward. As if I had had great practice in holding women, I slipped my arm around her waist and drew her head onto my shoulder. As she relaxed against my body, I whispered softly into her hair, "Sister, I will need courage tomorrow, and since the body supports the spirit, for courage I need sleep. I do not know what time we have left together in this dying land, but tonight, at least, I would like to spend with you."


	19. The God's Land | 3

**CHAPTER THREE**

"You're sure that you know how to do it?" John asked. 

The next morning had arrived. Leaving Ursula still sleeping, I had risen from my bed and wandered the corridor until I happened across the outside door. At that moment, a man entered, his eyes narrow and yellow, his face black, his teeth bared in a ferocious grin. Then his hand removed the mask, and I saw the tired face of John, returning at dawn from his night-prowl. 

"Have no worries for me," I said, slipping back with no effort into my cold composure. "It has been a while now since I kept my thoughts from Peter, but not so long that I have forgotten how to be his equivocal servant. I know how to tell lies with the truth, and Peter trusts me enough that he will not guess what I am doing. He will not know what is afoot." 

John smiled, a tired and somber smile. He slipped his mask into the trader's satchel where he kept it hidden by day. I paused at the threshold to the doorway, and then said quietly, "Thank you for taking care of Ursula for me." 

John nodded. "I was wondering when she would get the courage to tell you. I'd tried to convince her that you wouldn't care if her father was a god-cursed demon, but you can see how she's treated in this land. It was hard for her to believe that you would love her despite her beginnings." 

"She should not have feared," I said. "I know as well as she does what it is to be half Koretian and half Emorian. As long as the two lands remain at war with each other, those of us who have ties to both lands will always suffer. So we must see whether we can do anything to change that." With no further word, I turned and made my way down the mountainside toward the governor's palace. 

o—o—o

I found the Chara alone on the balcony of his room, his eyes on the land before him. The morning sun was bringing sweat to his face and neck, and he had taken off his emblem brooch, perhaps in order to open his tunic to a slight breeze that had slid its way into the city. As I came to stand beside him, he said, "Do you remember when we looked out of Lord Carle's window and talked of the black border mountains? It's odd to see them from the other side and to know that our homeland lies back there." I said nothing, and after a moment Peter's eyes slid over toward me. He said easily, "I couldn't find you last night. I assumed that you must be staying overnight with John." 

"John was away on business all last night," I said. "I was with Ursula." 

Peter's eyes were suddenly guarded, for no reason that I could understand. But all that he said was, "I suppose I don't have to worry that you were causing trouble in this land by bedding your blood brother's wife." 

That he should raise this topic puzzled me, but I knew better than to treat this as the insult it would have been if such words had come from Lord Carle. Deciding that it would be difficult to answer Peter's comment in any honest way, I said directly, "Chara, Ursula took me last night to see an old friend of mine who told me that he had information concerning the Jackal. He declined to send a message to you by me, saying that he must give the information to you himself. He asked me to bring you to see him, but alone and without anyone knowing where we are going." 

Peter took this statement in, and then said, in a matter-of-fact manner, "Andrew, I know that you are skilled in diplomacy rather than military matters, but even you must know that such an arrangement usually leads to a trap." 

"Chara . . ." My words failed. Then, gripping my courage as though I were plunging a dagger into my own heart, I said with sincerity, "This man was a close friend of mine, and I trust what he says. He explained enough to me that I know why it is he needs secrecy to give you the information you want. I cannot tell you what he said, but I can say this: on my oath as an Emorian, talking to him will not bring you to any harm, and I believe that it will be of help to Emor." 

Peter looked once more toward the mountains, as though he were wishing he was back home. After a minute, he said, "Well, I trust you." He spoke the words casually, as though they need hardly be said. Then he added, "But I will wear two daggers, one openly and one in my thigh-pocket, in the manner of spies. You're a good judge of men, but even friends can betray, and I don't trust your old friend not to betray you." 

I kept my eyes fixed on the mountainscape at the horizon as I said, "Can you come now? I have made arrangements for him to meet us." 

"Yes, now is the appropriate time. The only reason I'm taking this risk – other than because you believe that the risk is worth it – is that I have desperate need of information. I haven't found here what I wish to know, and perhaps this friend of yours will be able to supply me with the information I'm seeking. But let me go first and see whether I can find Lord Carle. Don't worry," he added as I made a slight movement. "I'll say nothing to him of this. I want to make sure that he'll be safely hidden away with the governor this morning and won't notice our absence." 

He left me, and I returned to the Chara's room. I found Peter's bony dagger first and set it aside. Then I brought out his leather thigh-pocket, which is hidden by being strapped to the leg under the tunic. I slid my fingers into the narrow confines of his thigh-pocket. The pocket was empty. 

I kept the pocket covered with my hand as Peter returned. He paused and said with a smile, "This is like the old days, seeing you bring out my clothes again. My brooch must be around here somewhere. . . . Well, leave it for now. Did you find my thigh-dagger?" 

"I have everything ready. Did you speak with Lord Carle?" 

Peter shook his head and allowed me to lace on the thigh-pocket without bothering to check it himself. "He is nowhere to be found, but it's of no importance. If we can find the information I need, it won't matter how Lord Carle spends his morning. Thank you," he added, as I clipped his bony dagger to his belt. "You ought to wear a weapon yourself, this once." 

"I have little experience in using a blade," I replied. "If we find ourselves in danger, I will borrow one of your daggers." 

"And will suddenly learn how to fight, in that case," Peter said. "Fear and love are the two things I know that force a man to learn new skills. Well, lead the way – whether we are going to meet a friend, or an enemy who wishes our deaths, at least we will be together." 

I stepped into the corridor, beyond Peter's sight, and used the few seconds before he joined me to control my expression. 

o—o—o

When we reached the gods' house, Ursula awaited us outside. Looking only at me, she said, "He's waiting for you in the sanctuary." Then she turned to lead, but Peter stopped her, laying a hand gently on her shoulder. As she looked up, he asked in quiet puzzlement, "How is it that you come to be involved in this matter, Ursula? I wouldn't want to see you harmed. Perhaps you should wait for us in the city." 

Ursula made no reply. I hastened to say, "Wait for us at the other end of the house, at least. Then, if we walk into danger, you will have time to take care for yourself." 

Ursula met my eyes as she touched my hand briefly before turning to walk to the end of the house where the Jackal's other thieves were hiding. 

I took one final look at Peter. He smiled at me with love and reassurance. Then I ushered him in to where John awaited. 

John was standing in the middle of the sanctuary, wearing the mask of the Jackal. As Peter saw this, he halted, unsheathing his dagger. I took several steps forward to bring us beyond reach of the doorway; Peter, his eyes on the Jackal, had no choice but to follow. Then I reached out and took the Chara's dagger. 

He did not resist my move; he was still watching John. I knew that the only reason he had not yet attacked was because he saw that the Jackal was unarmed. Other men might be in the house, though, and the Chara would know that he must imprison the Jackal before their arrival. As I walked over to the wall next to us, Peter moved his hand to his thigh. 

Perplexity crossed his face as he felt the empty pocket. Even then he did not look at me. His gaze fixed on the dangerous man before us, he began to move slowly sideways to aid his friend who had so little experience in wielding a blade. 

At that moment, the Jackal spoke softly under his sinister mask: "I am the Jackal. The Chara has said that we could not speak together until I was his prisoner or he was mine. It is for that reason that I have had you brought here." 

A soft sound behind us caused Peter to whirl round. In the corridor was a cluster of armed thieves. One of the thieves was in the process of closing the sanctuary door. As he did so, a single figure slipped into the sanctuary. For a moment, Peter's gaze lingered upon Ursula. Then he turned to see what she was watching. 

The Jackal stepped forward to me at the wall. I looked at John, watching me silently through the eyeholes of his mask, and handed him the Chara's dagger. Then I looked over at the Chara. 

For a moment still, his look of trustfulness lingered, as though he expected me to explain this peculiar behavior. But as the Jackal turned away, he reached up to the mask with no flourish and pulled it away to reveal his face. Peter's gaze travelled from John to me and then, within blinks of the eye, his face grew cold and formal, as it did when he wore the Pendant of Judgment. 

He kept his gaze fixed on me for a moment longer as his face returned to normal. John went over to the window and laid the mask and dagger there. Then, dismissing me from his look as though I were of no importance, Peter turned to John and said dispassionately, "Andrew learned in his years with me to serve as a mediator between myself and those who wished to communicate with me. Whatever his motives for bringing me here or the constraints placed upon me by this meeting, he has done me one final service by allowing me the opportunity to speak with the Jackal. He said that you had information for me. If he spoke truly, then I would be interested in hearing it." 

Ursula walked over to stand beside me. I placed my arm around her shoulders and pulled her back against my chest. 

Neither the Chara nor the Jackal took notice of us. They were standing straight and motionless, as though issuing a challenge to each other. John said, in the same neutral voice that Peter had used, "Most of the Koretian people blame the Chara for all the troubles of this land, but those of us who have had many encounters with Lord Alan know that the governor is as much a trickster as the Jackal. For fifteen years now, Lord Alan has profited through the deaths of men: he arrests Koretian noblemen on slim pretexts, and then he tortures them into offering false confessions that they are my thieves. Once the noblemen have confessed to their supposed crimes, Lord Alan is free to execute them and confiscate their land and goods for his own use." 

John paused for a second to sweep the hair back from his eyes. That one small gesture seemed to contain all the proof that the Chara would need that he was dealing with a man rather than a god. Having seen John as both, I could sense how, even at this moment, John's godly powers lay simmering below the surface like a hidden fire. But the Chara had not seen that side of John, and I remembered what the Jackal had said about the Emorians' inability to recognize the god. John was left with only his human wit with which to fight his enemy. 

The Jackal concluded, "The governor's brutality and the Chara's outlawing of the gods' law, as well as my own activities, have brought this land to a point of explosion. You can no longer continue to hold this dominion as you have in the past. War will be here at any moment." 

The Chara was silent for a while. Ursula had turned her face from what was happening; she rested her head on my chest, her eyes closed. I held her softly against me, my eyes still on the men. 

"When Andrew was with me," Peter said slowly, "he may have thought he was privy to all of my thoughts, but he was not. Some facts I kept from him, not out of distrustfulness, but in an effort to protect him. I know the information you have just given me, both the governor's activities and the imminence of war. They are the reasons I travelled here myself, rather than send an ambassador. No time existed to send messengers back and forth; I needed to be here on the spot to find a solution to both problems." 

"Give us our freedom," said John succinctly. "That will solve the problems." 

"Will it?" Peter continued to stand as motionless as he did when he was sitting in judgment; his face, though, had not returned to stone. I had asked Peter once what he felt when he took on the look of the Chara. He had been quiet a long while. Then he had said, "As though I become someone else." That was all that he had offered, and I had not pressed him further on the matter. I knew better than to prise secrets from him, though I had believed that his secrets from me were few. 

Now Peter said, "Will it solve Koretia's problems to return it to the state it was in when Koretia attacked Emor twenty-seven years ago? Koretia had no strong central government; it had been torn apart by civil war; its people had no law courts to turn to in order to settle their grievances peacefully. Many people believe that my father fought against the Koretians for twelve years purely in order to exact vengeance for the destruction of the borderland villages. In fact, many more Emorians died in the Border Wars than were killed in the villages. That incident alone was not reason enough to fight. My father continued to fight because he believed that it was the only way to bring peace, not only to Emor, but to Koretia as well. That peace I am sworn to uphold." 

John's hand rested lightly upon his empty belt. With his back to the window, his face was mainly in shadow. "Peace is something we both want, Chara," he said quietly. "But you cannot buy peace by enslaving a land." He hesitated. I remembered him sometimes stopping in childhood as though he were drawing upon his visions of the gods to know what to say. Through the window came the everlasting song of the cicadas, growing louder as the heat of the day grew greater. 

John continued, "If you had talked to the Koretians during your visit rather than staying in the governor's palace most of the time, you would know that my people appreciate the benefits of Emorian law. The great strength of Emorian law is that it is rigid and unchanging; the great strength of the gods' law is that it is flexible. The two complement each other – I know that you do not agree with his, for you do not worship the gods and see the benefits of their manner of judgment. But you will never convince the Koretians to live as Emorians. The best you can do for the Koretians is to free us and allow us to retain what is good about Emor, while bringing back what is good about Koretia. Free us, Chara, and you will have true peace in this land." 

"It is not that simple," replied Peter. He paused, and I remembered the pauses he would make during dinner conversations and council meetings and other times when he must subtly assess the man speaking in order to determine whether he was a friend or enemy. He continued in his carefully courteous manner, "You say that Koretia can take over her own affairs without dissolving into civil war. As I have said before, that would require a ruler who could work with both Emor and Koretia, and I have not yet found a man in this land whom I would entrust with that task. That is one difficulty." 

His eyes slid over toward me, binding me momentarily, so that I lost all awareness of the woman in my arms and felt only the Chara's cold, pitiless scrutiny. Then his gaze travelled back to John. "The other difficulty is one that Andrew may have mentioned – or would have, if his mind had not perhaps been on other matters. I know, from the questions he asked me at the time, that he was researching this matter immediately before we left Emor . . . out of service to me." 

Again, that brief, cold look, and then the Chara returned his attention to the Jackal. "I am not entirely a free-man," he said. "I am bound by the law of my people. I may be a tyrant, as you say, but my tyranny is placed under careful restraints by the rules of my land. If this were fifteen years ago, and Koretia had no governor, I could do as I wished in this land. But Koretia has a governor, who receives his orders from the Great Council rather than me. The governor's appointment is for life, and I may not remove him from office except with the council's consent. As long as Koretia is ruled by its governor, I am powerless to make great changes in this land without permission from the Emorian council. And the council will not give me the power to free Koretia. I know, because I asked it to do so." 

Ursula suddenly lifted her head to stare at the Chara. John's face did not change; it was as solid as a mask. He said in a detached voice, "You are saying that you want to free Koretia?" 

"I wanted the power to do so. Whether I did so depended on whether I could overcome that other difficulty I mentioned. But the council's word is final in this matter. I cannot overrule it without truly becoming the tyrant I am supposed to be." 

"Then, since you could not free the Koretians, you came here to find a way to break their will," said John flatly. 

"Yes. Or to find another way to free them." As I watched, Peter came to some sort of judgment about John. His expression softened somewhat, and his voice, already courteous, became cordial. "Before deciding to come here, I asked Andrew what he could tell me about his land. He confirmed what I had learned from one of my spies, that the governor is stealing from the Koretians. I knew that if I could uncover evidence that the governor was defying the Chara's orders to treat the people here with mercy, and if I could also show that he had been stealing goods that rightfully belonged to the dominion, then I would be able to have him sentenced to the high doom for disobedience. With his death certain, I would have the power to decide Koretia's fate. So I came here to get that evidence." 

"And did you find it?" asked John. 

Peter shook his head, and his hand went briefly up to finger his neck-flap. Then, discovering that his emblem brooch was not there, he let his hand fall once more. "No. If he is indeed breaking my commands, he has covered his tracks well. You notice that I did not ask you whether you had the evidence I need. I know that such evidence is in the palace somewhere, in places where even your thieves cannot go. So if you wish to see Koretia free, I can suggest only two solutions: my freedom or my death. Since I have no heir, my death will plunge Emor into civil war, and the Emorian soldiers will have no time to hold Koretia. My freedom may allow me to obtain the information I need to free Koretia – if that is what I decide to do." 

John wore a slight smile as he listened to the Chara's candid words. Then his smile faded. "I cannot risk letting you go. I do not trust you enough to be sure that you will free Koretia if you gain the power to do so. As for your death, I have no wish for that to occur. But by tomorrow, the governor and the Koretians will know that you have been kidnapped, and the war here will have begun. We will have to leave here when that happens. And as I already explained to Andrew, we cannot take prisoners with us." 

The Chara stood motionless. His expression did not change. In a voice much colder than before, he said, "Then you and I will have to do much thinking this day to find a solution. It is not only my own life that hangs in balance here." 

The Jackal nodded. His command, spoken in a softly raised voice, brought two of the thieves into the sanctuary to take the Chara away. As he walked out, Peter passed me without a word; I was still cradling Ursula against me. Peter reached the door, and then hesitated a moment, looking back at us, before allowing himself to be led away.


	20. The God's Land | 4

**CHAPTER FOUR**

John waited until Peter and the thieves had left, closing the door behind them. Then he turned, walked rapidly to the window, and laid his palms down on the windowseat, leaning forward as far as he could without falling. Ursula lifted her head again and slipped out of my arms to come over and place her hand on his back. He looked up at her touch and asked, "Will you let me speak with Andrew alone?" 

Ursula nodded and left the room, her gaze switching from John to me, as though unsure which brother she should be aiding first. When she was gone, John turned, picked up the Chara's dagger from the windowseat where he had laid it, and stared at it. He said meditatively, "I often think it would be better to be the one under the sentence of death than to be the one doing the sentencing." 

"The Chara said something like that to me once," I murmured. 

John looked at me silently. Since he made no reply, I asked in a flat voice, "What next?" 

"I asked Ursula to leave because I have one more task I wish you to take on." John moved forward to me, the dagger still cradled gently in his hand. "This task is more dangerous than the previous one and may yield no help at all, so feel free to refuse me on this. I'd like you to go back to the palace and take all of the papers you can find that belong to the Chara. They may be of use to us. If you meet anyone, you'll have to devise a tale to explain why the Chara is missing and you are there. It's possible that you'll be arrested." 

I smiled humorlessly and shook my head. "As to that, I've been arrested before. I've also been enslaved, beaten, and seen the eyes of the friend I love when he discovered what I'd done to him. At this point, nothing matters except finding a way to free Koretia. If these papers might help, I'll fetch them." 

John touched my arm and said with quiet intensity, "Do not give way to despair. I have had to do many times what you have done for the first time today, lure a trusting man to his death. Do not allow the numbness you now feel to conceal from you any dangers. I still have need of your help, and I have no wish to lose a blood brother again." 

"I'll be careful," I promised. 

o—o—o

Perhaps I would have been, if I had not met Lord Carle. 

He came upon me as I was sorting through the small pile of papers in Peter's chamber. The council lord entered the room waving his hand, trying to bat away a Koretian blood-fly that had taken a fancy to him. His face was red and perspiring, and as the blood-fly landed on his neck for a fourth time, he cried out, "If the dog-people who live in this place do not destroy themselves soon, then I pray to the Koretian gods that this land be burnt to the ground! No civilized man should have to live in such a place, where even the Emorian soldiers have acquired so thick a barbarian accent that I suspect their brains have been melted by the heat. It took me five minutes to make myself understood to the guards at this door, though no doubt they let you in immediately, since you appear so at home in this land." 

I did not look up. I had found under one of the papers the Chara's emblem brooch. Without thinking why I was doing so, I slipped it into the satchel John had loaned me. In a cool voice I asked, "May I help you, Lord Carle?" 

"No, I do not need to talk to the Chara's servant, I need the Chara himself. Fetch your master to me." 

"The Chara spoke of walking about the city this morning, but no doubt he will return soon. You may wish to check the governor's library to see whether he is there." 

"I have just been with the governor in his library, and I would like the Chara's opinion on the subject we discussed. Why are you not with your master?" 

Three weeks before he had asked me the same question, and I had reacted with fury. Now I simply said, "He asked me to sort through his papers while he was gone. If you wish, you may leave a message for him here, where he will see it." 

"So that the Jackal's thieves can read through it at their leisure? Do not act the fool, Andrew. Koretian dog though you may be, you are at least loyal to your master and would not do anything that betrayed the Chara to the gutter-washed, mud-eating blood-worms who inhabit this land." 

I could blame the heat, which seemed ten times hotter now than it had been in my youth. Whatever the cause, at this mild insult from Lord Carle, which was almost the greatest compliment he had ever paid me, I found myself snatching up the Chara's pen from his desk, clutching it in my hand as though it were a dagger, and shouting, "Koretian dog though I am, I would rather face the high doom against murderers than hear you tell me again what you think of my land!" 

The Chara's guards appeared at the doorway, having heard my cry even through the thick corridor door of Peter's chamber. Seeing that I held nothing more dangerous than a pen, they quickly retreated, closing the door behind them. Lord Carle was regarding me with a sideways smile, and at his look, I suddenly felt cold amidst the heat. 

"Your land . . ." he said slowly. "Now, this is interesting. I seem to recall that only three days ago you were defending to the death your right to be considered an Emorian, and now you are speaking of this as your land and admitting that you are Koretian. I wonder what this sudden change of loyalties means." 

I said nothing, since I could think of nothing that would explain myself. Lord Carle took two steps forward and said in a voice as quiet and deadly as the whisper of a cutting blade, "I find it intriguing that the Chara gives you the right to look through his papers while he is gone, though he has told me on several occasions that he does not wish to inform you of all that he is doing here. But of course he is conveniently missing at the moment, so I cannot ask him about this. Are you sure you do not know where he is?" 

"Yes." 

Lord Carle's smile broadened. He took another step forward to where I stood paralyzed in my tracks, like a bird confronted by a snake. "I never thought the day would come when you would lie poorly, but your natural talent for deception seems to have abandoned you. Will you tell me where the Chara is, or shall I send you to the governor's dungeon to await your master's return? Or, if the Chara is for some reason delayed, do you wish to tell me the truth of your own free will, or should I ask the governor to have his soldiers demonstrate to you their methods of inquiry? I understand that the torturers here have had much practice on the local population." 

I opened my lips to tell some lie, which would no doubt be as transparent a falsehood as my previous one. As I did, I thought suddenly of Peter's look in the moments after John had told him that he must die. And it seemed to me then that if the Chara could face his death with such calm, I could face whatever came from betraying him. 

I said to Lord Carle firmly, "I will not tell you where the Chara is. I am Koretian, and I have taken a blood vow." 

Lord Carle's smile disappeared like a shaft of sunlight that has been covered by dark clouds. As I saw his rage rise, I wondered whether he would hand me over to the torturers or have his own revenge upon me in this very room. Then he moved, snatching the Chara's pen from me and turning his back on me to lean over the Chara's desk. 

I watched with puzzlement as he scribbled words on a piece of paper, then folded it and sealed the wax with his ring. When he turned back with the paper in hand, he had a look on his face that I had not seen for many years: that of a soldier who has met a hated and respected enemy. 

He said, "On one of the many occasions in which I was commanded to appear in the Chara's quarters to be rebuked by him for my behavior toward you, the Chara told me that you could not be mastered through fear but only through love. He was kind enough not to add what we both knew: that I have battled with you many times and that you have won every battle, from the moment we met. I would lose this battle if I waged it. With your stubbornness in the face of pain, I doubt that the most skilled of the governor's torturers could wring from you any fact you had determined to remain hidden. So, since the Chara has often told me that he is willing to trust his life to you, I will try his own methods. This letter contains information that may be of great help to the Chara. If you love him, you will deliver it to him." 

I reached out slowly and took the paper from him. Lord Carle handed it to me with a jerk, as though throwing food to an unclean animal, and then turned and left me alone with the Chara's papers. 

o—o—o

When I returned to the lair of the Jackal, I found him sitting on the floor in the ancient dormitory, holding over a fire an iron basket filled with blackroot nuts, the staple of any Koretian commoner's diet. 

I made my way past a handful of thieves, who were munching on nuts and bread; I recognized all of them from the meeting at the tavern. The farmer I had spoken with there was crouched next to John. As I came near, I heard him say in a low voice, "I could try to find him now." 

"I need you here." 

John's voice was quiet but unbending; he did not look up from the fire. The farmer glanced up at me. Perhaps feeling inhibited by my presence, he replied only, "Well, keep your hands away from the fire. You'll need them as well." He nodded at me as he rose, and then went over to speak with one of the other thieves. 

I sat down next to John, dropping the satchel I had carried back with me from the palace. John handed me a bowl of nuts and a cup of ale that were sitting beside him. My eyes travelled from the cooking flame up to the open hole where the smoke was drifting out. "Is that safe?" 

"It's very dangerous," John replied. "The smoke can be seen from the city. But it's more dangerous to allow my thieves to go a third day without a warm meal. I sensed the beginnings of a rebellion." 

I was silent for a moment before saying, "And you needed a sacrificial fire?" 

"Not today." John pulled himself closer to the fire. "I can't afford to make any sacrifices now. It's an aid to prayer only – my most trusted thief has gone missing in the city. I've been praying for his safety." 

I pulled my thoughts away from the image of a burning city in order to look at John. He was bowed over the nuts, the heat from the fire bringing sweat to his forehead and causing his dark hair to clamp with moisture. By his feet was the Jackal's mask, and he was still wearing his black tunic, but now on the left side of his belt I could see hanging a sheath and hilt made of gold and bloodstone. The dagger was curved like a crescent moon or a priest's blade. 

I said, "John, how can you offer prayer and sacrifice to the god when you're the Jackal? I thought that you were both man and god, joined together." 

John pulled the nuts from the basket, hissing softly as he burned his fingers in the process. "You might go further and ask other questions," he said. "Am I still a man, with a man's will, or was my will lost when I took on the god's powers? Why do I fear for my thieves' lives, as well as my own, if I am joined with the Unknowable God who knows all things? Why do I not know how this struggle with the Chara will end?" 

I watched John hand the nuts he had cooked to a thief walking by. "What is the answer?" 

John picked up a cup beside him and sipped on the ale. The fire-smoke, tingling at my nose, rose to the ceiling, placing a dark haze between us. Drifting through the open windows around us I could smell the scents of a Koretian summer: the sweet-sour wild-berries, the onion-like grass, the sandstone dust. As yet, I could not smell fire from the city. 

After a while, John said, "It isn't easy to explain, so let me tell a story instead. There once was a very great master, a master who could see everything that occurred on his estate, and for whom the past and the present and the future were but a single moment. This master had a large number of servants – all free-servants, for the master refused to own slaves. 

"One day, the servants fell to quarreling, and they would not listen to the master when he commanded them to be at peace with one another. The master could have punished them all by making them slaves, but because he loved his servants, he decided instead to help them by making a sacrifice. He went to one of the servants – a servant no better than the rest, except that he had tried to be loyal to his master – and he asked whether he could join himself with the servant, so that the master would be part servant and the servant would be part master. In this way, the master could leave the servants free to run their lives as they wished, but at the same time, in his new form he could help to guide the disobedient servants back to peace. 

"The servant to whom the master spoke was very afraid. He said to the master, 'What does it mean that we will be joined together? Am I the only servant who is to become a slave? Will I have no choice in what I do because my will is bound to yours?' 

"'No,' said the master. 'There will be times when our wills are bound together and you have no choice in what to do, but most of the time you will be just an ordinary servant, and you will have no more powers than any other servant. At such times, you can obey me freely if you wish, and you can disobey me if you wish.' 

"And so the servant consented to be joined in this way to the master, and together the master and servant worked to bring peace to the quarreling servants. 

"Then, one day, one of the servants disobeyed the master—" 

John stopped; his gaze was fixed on the fire before him. Behind us, the thieves spoke quietly with one another as they ate the meal that John had cooked for them. 

I said, "Which servant? The one who was joined to the master, or one of the other servants?" 

"It doesn't matter." John sipped from his cup without raising his eyes. "It could be any of the servants, but since I'm telling the story, let's say that it was the first servant. Once, while his will was separate from that of the master, the servant disobeyed the direct command of his master and brought about evil. Then the master asked, 'What shall I do? My servant has done great evil, and I do not know how I can join myself with the servant again, for it was his loyalty to me which allowed me to join us in the beginning. Yet if we are disunited, and I take back what I have given him, the servant may fall into despair and die.' 

"Now, it so happened that there lived another servant who was friend to the first. This second servant was not aware of what had happened, but he wished to assist his friend in any way that he could. So he spoke to the master and said, 'If my friend is ever in need, take whatever you wish from me so that my friend can be helped.' 

"The second servant made this promise at another time than all this was taking place, but the master, for whom past and future are one, saw how he could help the disobedient servant. He warned the second servant, 'The only sacrifice which will help your friend is for you to give up that which is dearest to you.' 

"'That does not matter,' said the second servant. 'I will give anything I have to help my friend.' 

"And so the master took what was dearest to the second servant and used that sacrifice to help the first servant remain joined to him. And so great was the second servant's sacrifice that the master was also able to use it to help other servants throughout his estate. Thus one servant's sacrifice was used to counterbalance the evil done by many other servants." 

John put down his cup as he finished his story, and for a moment I saw the blackness on his left palm. Then John pushed himself back slightly from the fire. His whole face was now covered with sweat. 

"Is that a true story?" I asked. 

Still, John did not look up. "Yes," he said very softly. "But even if it weren't, it had the potential for truth in the moment that the master chose to allow his servants freedom. There are different versions to the story – perhaps the master used the sacrifice of several servants to help the disobedient servant, just as he used each single sacrifice to help many servants. But the story always begins and ends the same way: with one servant doing evil, and another servant making a sacrifice to counter that evil. And the greatest sacrifice is made by the master, in joining himself to his limited servant." 

We were sitting in the midst of the dormitory. Stone foundations for pallets lay along the walls under two windows, one facing north toward the city and one facing south toward the mountainside. Noonday light spilled through both windows, overlapping at the center of the room where John sat. He looked up at me finally, his serious gaze meeting mine. "Perhaps I was wrong when I said that I could not afford to make any more sacrifices. The god has commanded me to keep myself and my thieves safe, but it is hard to say what he will ask of me before this is over. I may need to make another sacrifice before the end." 

The farmer stepped past me into the corridor and walked down to where the market-seller stood before a doorway, offering him a cup of ale. As the market-seller took the cup, the farmer turned to face the door, his hand alert on his dagger in case the cell's inhabitant should try to escape. 

I asked, "And what about when the master and servant are joined? What is that like?" 

When I looked back toward John, I found that he was smiling. "It's hard to describe," he said. "It is a binding, yet in many ways it makes me feel as though I have been given greater freedom than I had before. I lose myself, yet when I return to my own will, I find more of myself than when I left. It makes it easier for me to do hard things." 

"How so?" My gaze drifted over to the corridor, where all of the doors remained shut. Then a whisper of metal pulled my attention back to John. He had pulled his curved dagger from its sheath and was holding it before him. Reflections of yellow-red fire danced on the silver blade, which was etched with black jagged lines that looked like the teeth on the Jackal's mask. 

Sober-faced, John said, "If it comes about that I must kill the Chara, then it will not be done casually, in the manner of an alley murder. He will be brought to me unbound at first, to signify what is in fact true, that he came to me of his own free will. Then his hands will be bound, and his crimes against the god will be recited. One thief will explain why he must die, while another thief will explain why he must live. And I will be silent all the while. I will be holding this blade, which is the Jackal's blade and can never be used for self-defense, but is used only to execute the enemies of the god. On my heart I will wear the badge of the Unknowable God, who has taken my body and combined master and servant into one, so that I am neither wholly god nor wholly man but simply the Jackal. The Jackal's eyes will look out from the mask and judge, and if the God's Decision is given for death, the Jackal's hand will take the blade and strike the Chara through the heart." 

Vaguely I was aware that the other thieves were still speaking around us, taking no notice of our conversation. For a moment longer, John stared at the blade. Then the look in his eyes faded, and he quietly sheathed the dagger, glanced at me, and said, "That makes it easier. Otherwise I would find my role unbearable." 

His words were barely finished when a cloth flew into his face. With a splutter and a smile, John pulled the cloth down, saying, "Mind you, some of my thieves are determined that I should always remember the human side of me. What news do you bring, Brendon?" 

Grinning, Brendon knelt down on his haunches beside John. "Wipe your face; you look as though you've been dipped in a well." His expression sobered. "None of my news is good, I'm sorry to say. Word of the Chara's disappearance has not yet leaked out to the soldiers, but the governor has ordered his divisions placed in readiness, and we may expect that some time soon they will be sent in search of the Chara. They will be swarming over this mountain before we know it." 

"We will know beforehand; you will tell us. It's more likely that the soldiers will search the city first, but that is just as bad, for their search will spark the riots we have feared." 

"The Chara hasn't spoken to you again?" said Brendon. 

"No, though I've sent word to him that he may speak to me at any time. So, since there seems to be no hope from that quarter, let's see what Andrew here was able to find at the palace." John held out his hand, and I pulled the papers from the satchel, handing him all but one. 

John flipped through the papers. "Did any of these appear useful?" 

"I didn't have time to read through them completely, but I noticed nothing that might help." 

John continued to skim the documents. Without looking up, he said, "And the one you're holding?" 

I handed it to him. Placing the other papers to the side, John balanced the folded paper in his hand, looking down at it. "Lord Carle," he said. 

"You know his seal?" 

"One of the tedious tasks I have is to keep in memory great mountains of trivial information that usually turn out to be of no use at all. Was this with the other papers?" 

"Lord Carle gave it to me himself." 

John's eyes flicked up. "Did he ask you where the Chara was?" 

"Yes. After listening to my lies, he concluded I had betrayed the Chara." 

Brendon was motionless beside us. John, his thumb rubbing the surface of the seal with a rhythmic motion, said, "Yet he let you go." 

"He said he knew that I wouldn't tell him where the Chara was if I was tortured. He seemed to think it was important that I deliver this message to Peter. He said it would help the Chara." 

John looked away from me momentarily. "Brendon," he said. 

"I'll alert the lookout," Brendon replied and slipped from his side. A moment later, though I could not see how the word was spread, the thieves had disappeared from the room. John reached back behind him and picked up a dagger. It was the Chara's. 

"I hope that you weren't followed," said John, "but I'd intended to give this to you anyway, as it's possible that, some time today, unfriendly visitors will arrive here without warning." 

I did not reach out to take the dagger. "I would rather fight with my hands," I said. 

"You'll die if you try that. Not all Emorian soldiers are as gentle as the one who enslaved you. And I won't repeat the mistake I made as a boy by leaving you weaponless." 

I continued to stare at the dagger. John said softly, "I thought we had already discussed this matter. You are under my care, and you did not break faith with me the last time I gave you a weapon." 

"That was your dagger. This one is the Chara's, and before that it was mine. It's the blade with which I tried to kill Lord Carle." 

Through John's silence, I could hear no sound from the thieves outside, nor even from the man guarding the Chara's door. Finally John said, "Then this is the true test of your loyalty to the Jackal. I know that you don't trust yourself after what you did to the Chara today. But I trust you, and I will be trusting you with my life if you wear this. I must carry the Jackal's blade throughout today in case I have little time in which to use it. It is forbidden that I carry another weapon at the same time, but I cannot use my dagger to defend myself in battle – it is the god's blade. So I may need your help to stay alive." 

I took the Chara's dagger then, stuck it unsheathed under my belt, and looked back at John expectantly. He nodded his thanks, said, "Now to this letter," and broke the seal. 

Over the years, I had seen many of Lord Carle's letters. Like Lord Alan, the council lord wrote with great formality. The letter that John read silently and then passed to me was very different.   


> _To the Chara:_
> 
> _I have them._
> 
> _Carle, Lord_

  
"I would rather he'd written this in code than in plain Emorian," said John. "We'd have a better chance of knowing what he meant." 

"'I have them.' Who does he mean – the Jackal's thieves?" 

"It would be bold of him to say so in a letter he expected to be read by the Jackal," said John. He looked at me and added, "I'm waiting for you to suggest that Lord Carle has the information the Chara is trying to find." 

"I wish I could suggest that," I said, "but you don't know Lord Carle. Peter told me that he hadn't discussed his work here with Lord Dean. He would hardly ask the help of Lord Carle, who wants nothing better than to see all Koretians bound into slavery. When I last met him, Lord Carle was praying to the gods for this land's destruction." 

"Even if you're wrong, we can't know for sure what the letter means," said John, and he let the paper fall into the flames. 

Brendon appeared at our side, as quietly as though he had slipped through the rocks of the wall. "He doesn't appear to have been followed," he told John, "but it will do no harm for us to stay on alert, now that the Chara has been missed. Shall I keep the others posted?" 

"Don't wear them out so much that they tire when the real danger comes. But yes, be ready for the soldiers." John turned his attention to me as Brendon left. My gaze was still on the paper, turning black in the fire. 

"Andrew." I looked up at my blood brother's soft word, as though he had lifted my chin with his hand. Looking at me with a fixed gaze, he said, "Andrew, we cannot deliver that message to the Chara. It may be harmless; it may be the way to Koretia's freedom. But it may mean our deaths as well. It may be a way to signal the Chara's rescue. If it were my life alone, I'd brave the chance, but I can't let the others die from my foolishness." 

"Yes, of course," I said, my voice neutral, my face without expression. "It is too great a danger. I see that too." 

John looked at me a moment longer, his fingers reaching forward to toy with the strap on his mask. Then he said, "You are my blood brother, but you are also now the god's servant. Since you have been in Emor all these years, I think perhaps I should use such words as will be most familiar to you. . . . Let me be clear. The Jackal commands you not to deliver Lord Carle's message to the Chara. Do you understand?" 

I allowed my gaze to drop back toward the fire. Finally looking up, I said, "Thank you. That makes it easier." 

"I guessed it would," said John, then rose and began collecting the empty bowls.


	21. The God's Land | 5

**CHAPTER FIVE**

That night, I stood with Ursula by the window in the dormitory, looking down upon the city and watching for the first signs of riots. 

The war moon cast a blanket of whiteness onto the quiet city streets. The room was lit only by the moonlight since the thieves dared not attract attention to the hideout. Ursula hooked her arm through mine, rested her cheek against my arm, and said abruptly, "I went to see the Chara this afternoon." 

I inclined my head to the side so that I could see her face. "Did John ask you to do that?" 

"Oh, John is so worried right now that I haven't wanted to bother him. I knew that he wouldn't mind if I visited the Chara. I didn't want to talk about Koretia or Emor with him. I just—" She sighed and started again. "I know that John is hurt by all this, because he respects the Chara and he doesn't wish to grieve you by killing your friend. But he has always been able to pray to the god and ask him for his peace, and that makes it easier for him to master what he feels. It isn't like that for me. I've learned a little from him about keeping inside what I feel, or else I never could have become a thief. But it hurt me too much to think about the Chara sitting in his cell all day, waiting for John to kill him. So I went to the Chara to apologize and to ask him whether I could do anything for him." 

The night was warm – unbearably hot, by Emorian standards – but she hugged her arms around herself as though she were cold. I reached over, pulled the blanket off the nearby bed, and draped it over her. My arm lingered on her shoulders as she said, "At first, when I began to talk, I couldn't tell what he was thinking. But by the time that I finished he had a look in his eyes – I can't describe it. It was as though I were to step out of this window and find myself falling into a night sky so black that it had no stars. And when I stopped talking he said nothing except, 'Please leave.' Just like that, very quiet, not at all angry, but almost as though he were afraid. I couldn't figure out what I'd said to frighten him, so I left." She pulled the blanket closer. "How late do you suppose it is?" 

"Midnight, perhaps. I think I heard the bell from the priests' house." 

"Do you see anything in the city?" 

"No. I would expect to see fire first – at least, that is the way it happened last time." My gaze drifted toward the mountainside below us, and I wondered whether any of the trees and bushes were hiding soldiers on their way to kill us. I said, "John ought to have sent you away from here." 

"To the city? I'd be no safer there." 

"To the priests' house, then, where he and our mother took refuge last time." 

"John doesn't believe the priests will be safe this time. He thought it best to keep me by his side." 

A small noise startled me. I turned to see that John had slipped into the room and was standing nearby, looking down at the city. One of his hands held the mask, and the other was resting on his dagger hilt, as though he expected something to happen at any moment. But his eyes, when they met mine, were as quiet as ever. 

"You look tired," said Ursula. "Trading all day, working with the thieves all night – I've never understood how you do it. You ought to get some rest." 

John's eyes drifted back to the city, and I wondered whether he was worrying about his missing thief. But his voice was composed as he said, "Sound advice for the both of you. We will be on the move in a few hours, and our heads will need to be clear after that." 

I felt Ursula start against me; then she controlled her first movement and asked in a tremulous voice, "There is news, then?" 

John passed his hand over his weary eyes and nodded. "Brendon returned from the palace again. The soldiers have been given orders to set out at dawn. We will have to leave by then." 

I put my arm around Ursula, holding her tight. She whispered, "Has the Chara sent word to you?" 

"I just went to see the Chara." His eyes slid from Ursula to me. "I told the Chara when we would be leaving. He told me he had nothing new to suggest." 

Ursula broke away from me, sat down on the bed, and buried her face in her hands. I could hear no sound from her; she was as still as a hidden bird. John gestured to me with his head, and we went to the far end of the room where Ursula could not hear us. 

He waited for me to speak first. Finally I said, "John, when the god fails to speak to you, how do you decide what to say in the Jackal's name?" 

John stood in an easy pose, his fingers twirling the mask on its strap. "I step into blackness, as though I were on a night-covered slope of the mountain," he replied, "and then I suffer the consequences if I have taken the wrong step. Whether I'm right or wrong, the thieves trust me because they know that I care for them. There is nothing more that we can demand of each other than love and trust." 

I said nothing. After a minute, John added, "I'd like you to stay with Ursula again tonight. I don't expect trouble before we leave, but it's best to be safe. And after we leave, I'd like you to keep her by your side and defend her. I know that you have no great skill with your dagger, but the other thieves are assigned specific tasks, and my duties won't allow me to look after any one thief, no matter how precious she is to me." 

"What of yourself?" I asked. "You told me that you couldn't hold another weapon while you wore the Jackal's blade, and that you were depending on me to defend you." 

John continued to swing the mask, but his hand shifted on his hilt somewhat, and his eyes drifted past me to Ursula before fixing themselves once more on me. 

"When we leave here," he said, "I will no longer be wearing the Jackal's blade." 

He left the room. I went and sat on the bed by Ursula, who was looking with dry eyes out on the view. After a minute I touched her and said, "Put your head on my lap. See whether you can get some sleep." 

Without looking at me, she followed my suggestion. I sat for a while with my back against the wall and my arm cradled around Ursula's body. Her breathing slowed, and the lines in her face began to ease. 

I shifted my arm slightly because it was beginning to stick to her body from the heat's moisture. Ursula murmured in her sleep, and I froze; then, without moving my arms, I leaned my head to the side and wiped my damp cheek against my shrugged-up sleeve. At the moment I did so, I remembered a scene from three months before. 

Peter and I had been sitting on the floor by the hearth in his sitting chamber, drinking from a single cup the wall-vine wine I had never learned to like. The evening was still early, but I had built a fire to stave off the chill of the springtime air. Peter leaned back against the reclining couch, tossing his beloved emblem brooch from hand to hand, and describing how Lord Dean had set out on another of his conspiracies to steal power from the Chara. There were, Peter remarked dryly, one or two council lords who took their oaths of loyalty seriously; the rest engaged in periodic sly attacks against the Chara. 

In a muffled undertone to Peter's remarks, I heard the High Lord passing in the corridor outside. Ordinarily, I could hear no noise through the thick corridor door, but on this day Lord Dean and Lord Carle were shouting at each other at the top of their lungs. Forcing my thoughts away from Peter's predatory council lords, I reached for my cloak to shield myself from the cold – and at the same moment Peter reached up to wipe the sweat off his forehead. We caught sight of each other's movements and burst into laughter. Then Peter bent forward to stoke up the fire for me while I went over to the shuttered window and opened it wide in order to let in the cool night air. A breeze had been blowing, as it always did in Emor, and I had shivered in the northern air. 

Now, as though on cue, I felt a gentle wind enter the room, bringing relief to my sweating body. For a moment, I did nothing except lean my head back against the wall, enjoying the steady breeze. Then the whistle of the wind began to lull my senses, and only a small part of me remained alert enough to recognize the implications of the wind. 

Fire weather was over. Koretia's air no longer remained in the stillness that would keep fires from stretching far. The land had fallen captive to the dangerous death wind that could spread fire for miles. 

o—o—o

I must have fallen asleep, for the next thing I knew I was no longer in the dormitory but in the sanctuary at the other end of the house. Beside me stood the Jackal, masked and with dagger in hand. He was looking with calm eyes at Peter, who stood before him, unarmed and unmasked but for a mist that prevented me from seeing through to his eyes. Then the Jackal spoke one quiet word, and Peter flinched. The Jackal raised his blade to strike, and in that moment Peter's eyes were uncovered, and I could see the fear in them. 

The scene shifted. I was in the Court of Judgment now, looking down from the balcony upon Henry. The Chara sat on his throne, his face cold and rigid; he had just placed his prisoner under the high doom. I saw Henry's head, which he had held erect throughout the trial, slowly bow, as though he were showing either fear or obedience or simply had already died. Then the guards came forward to escort him out, and as he turned I saw that the prisoner was not Henry but John, naked-faced. At that moment he looked up toward me, and I saw his eyes: they were filled with pain. 

Once again the scene shifted, and I knew that the Jackal had died. I was standing near the tavern, watching the flames as they came closer to my mother and the Emorian soldier. But the soldier was not the soldier who had enslaved me but the subcaptain I had spoken to the day before, and he was dying as he tried to save Ursula from the flames. And I realized that I was not in Koretia but in Emor, for I heard Lord Dean's voice say in my ear: "If the Chara dies, this land will erupt into a war as terrible as those in Koretia." 

Then I was in darkness. I longed to stay there, shielded from the images I had just seen, but I heard words whispering to me: Peter saying, "I can find nothing that will help me to bring peace to that land." John, making the same oath to the Jackal that the god himself had made, "I vow to bring peace to this land." Peter saying, "This is the Chara's oath, sworn to those who receive my peace." And finally, John saying, his voice filled with human pain, "I suppose that the gods always bring peace to those who pray to them, but their ways are mysterious . . ." 

Then only silence remained, and the silence seemed to form itself into something tangible in the blackness around me: It was John, quietly judging before he pronounced the words of the Jackal. It was Peter, sitting silently on the Chara's throne of judgment. And a voice spoke, and I knew that it was neither of these men, but someone or something I had never known and would never know, but who knew me. The voice said, "Bring to my servants the mercy of peace." 

As his quiet command faded in my mind, I was left with the image I had seen first: Peter, raising his head to look at the upraised dagger of the Jackal. 

I knew I had not lifted my eyelids, but I found myself where I had been before, sitting upright in the bed beside Ursula. She still slept, and I could tell that the moon had not moved since I saw it last. Carefully I moved Ursula's head from my lap. She murmured again but did not wake. I left the room, the final words of my vision still echoing in my head. 

They were holding him in the windowless cell where Ursula and I had spent the previous night. The thief guarding the cell let me in without any questions, and I stood near the door for a moment, blinking as my eyes adjusted to the candlelight. The Chara stood with his back to me. His forearm was pressed horizontally against the wall, and his head was resting upon his arm, as though he were looking out a window at a view. As the door closed, I saw his spine stiffen, but still he did not move. Finally he turned and leaned back against the wall, folding his arms against his chest. His eyes were guarded, and they seemed in the dim light as dark as my own. 

He said in a deceptively light tone, "I have spent today counting spiderwebs. I have not yet come to agree with Lord Carle that Koretia is a maggot-infested land, but there are certainly many spiders here. I counted twenty-four webs." 

I made no reply. He added, "I also watched the spiders eating their food, and learned quite a lot about how they trap their victims. I could not think of any other sports to occupy myself with after that. How was your day?" 

I walked over to the table and placed on it the emblem brooch. Peter glanced at it, and then turned his gaze back toward me. 

"I went to the palace today," I said. Peter remained silent, so I added, "John sent me there to fetch your papers." 

"Then I hope that John learned more from them than I did." 

I waited, realized that I would once more be forced to speak, and said, "I met Lord Carle." 

Something passed over Peter's face then, but he merely said, "Poor Lord Carle. Did you take the opportunity at your final meeting to tell him what you thought of him?" 

"He gave me a letter to deliver to you." 

Peter smiled then, but it was not the smile I expected to see on his face. His smile was a cold, dark one that brought back the chill of memory to me, though I could not recall where I had seen the smile last. "Knowing Carle," said Peter, "I expect that he wrote something very cryptic that no one except myself would understand. And though I have had little time to get to know your Jackal, he does not strike me as the type of man to routinely pass on letters to prisoners. Moreover, I see that you are holding no letter." 

"John burnt it. He said that you must not know the contents." 

Peter tilted his head back against the wall, gazing at me with narrowed eyes. "Much as my opinion of you has been forced to change during the past few hours, I find it hard to believe that you have come here for the purpose of placing me under torture of the spirit. Why are you telling me this?" 

"Because I wish to give you Lord Carle's message." 

Peter's smile faded. His eyes grew darker. He said tersely, "I do not believe I wish to hear the message." 

"He said that it might help you." 

"Then I can be certain that it would. It might even save my life. If I were under normal conditions, I would consider it my duty as Chara to hear the message, no matter who the messenger was. But just now I am not being rational, and I do not particularly care to hear Carle's message if it is to be delivered by a man who has betrayed his old land and his old master and who now demonstrates that he plans to betray his new land and his new master." 

I could not reply; my throat was clogged and my mouth dry. Peter pushed himself off of the wall, balanced himself delicately with one hand against the table, and said, in the same detached, frigid tone, "I had respect for you after you betrayed me. I told myself that this was your native land and that John was your blood brother and that you had a blood vow to fulfill. All of these things came before you ever met me, and I could respect you for returning to your first loyalties. But now I wonder whether loyalty is something you actually understand. You betray me, and then you come here to help me against the orders of the Jackal. I am not sure what you will do next. I see that you have the dagger I gave you – do you plan to kill me? I suppose that John gave the dagger into your keeping – will you kill him? I have reached the conclusion during the past few minutes that you are exactly what Carle told me you were on the day I came to beg him to sell you to me. He said that you were a dog, and worse than his own dog, who at least knew how to love one master. You, he said, were not capable of that type of love; you would lick a hand and then bite it, and do the same with the next master you served and the next. You were, he said – and you will appreciate the depths of his statement – more treacherous even than the Koretians." 

I felt myself shaking inwardly, though my body gave no sign of this. I walked blindly back to the door and took hold of the door frame, half turned toward the door, half turned toward Peter, who watched me with unchanging expression. Finally I said, my voice low, "What Lord Carle said is right. I cannot understand what I do – it makes no sense, and it is more barbaric than anything he ever did to me. I heard a voice I thought was the god, telling me to do this. But the gods reward loyalty, not treachery, and so the voice must have been a base and evil demon who was wearing the mask of a god. Still, since I have already lost your friendship and will lose the friendship of John when he learns why I came here, it will do me no further harm to obey that voice and tell you Lord Carle's message, whether you wish to hear it from me or not. Lord Carle said: I have them." 

Peter did not move. His voice revealed no thoughts as he said, "I would like to see the Jackal, if I may." Then he turned his back upon me.


	22. The God's Land | 6

**CHAPTER SIX**

I found the Jackal in the sanctuary, standing by the window in conversation with Brendon. I waited by the door for a minute, trying to still my inner trembling, until John looked up and said, "I thought I asked you to stay with Ursula." 

I walked over to him until I reached the patch of moonlight stretching out from the window. "I went to see the Chara," I said. "He wishes to speak to you." 

John held my eyes for a moment. Then he picked up the mask he had laid on the windowseat and said to Brendon quietly, "Please go look after Ursula in her room. And on your way, see that the Chara is brought here to me." 

Brendon nodded and left, and I was left alone with the Jackal, his mask now steady in his hands. 

He said, "You told him." 

"Yes." Though I had not defended myself to Peter, I found myself saying, "John—" 

He brushed away my words with a gesture, then laid his hand on my shoulder and said, "I am to blame. It was too much to ask of you – I should have ordered the others to keep you from his cell. There is no need for us to say any more about this." 

My eyes fell to the mask. "It was the god I betrayed." 

John stepped back and began swinging the mask lightly in his hand. After a while he said, "Perhaps. But I spoke to you unmasked, as the Jackal's servant rather than through the god's own voice; it may be that I was wrong. We will see. In any case, I know that you must have had your reasons for doing what you did, and I doubt it was due to sentimentality or some other weakness." 

"I don't know what it was," I replied wearily. "Peter said I was simply treacherous. All I know is that something spoke to me that seemed to care nothing about blood brothers or lands or any other loyalties. It demanded obedience from me." 

For the first time, an expression I could not identify passed over John's face. But he had no chance to say anything more, because the door opened and the Chara appeared, escorted by two thieves. John waited until Peter had come to stand near the window and the thieves had left before saying, "What does the message mean?" 

"It means," said Peter in his neutral voice, "that Lord Carle has discovered the papers I asked him to find, the papers which prove that the governor was disobeying my orders." 

John glanced at me before saying, with no note of accusation in his voice, "That does not sound like something Lord Carle would do, if I have understood rightly what Andrew reports. He said that Lord Carle hates the Koretians more than anything else." 

Peter looked over at me and gave a cold smile. In the moonlight, his face looked as grey as the funeral bindings of a corpse or the tunic of one of the Living Dead. "Andrew would hardly know, would he? He has not been witness to my friendship with Carle." 

I am not sure what my face revealed at that moment. All I knew was that John looked at me sharply. Relentlessly, Peter continued, with his gaze fixed on me, "Neither Andrew nor any other Koretian is ever likely to encounter Lord Carle's better qualities, and for this reason I have never spoken to Andrew of my friendship with Carle. I intensely dislike Carle's manner of speech, and I am much angered by his behavior toward those whom he considers his inferiors. But he is my most loyal subject and is now the only man whom I trust completely." 

The small word "now" was like the slice of a dagger-thigh into my life's blood. I saw, stretched across my memory, the subtle, secret war that Lord Carle had been waging against me all these years. He had finally won. 

For a moment more, the Chara continued to smile his council lord's smile – Peter had had many opportunities over the years to learn that smile, I now recognized. Then he looked back at John, and his expression grew serious as he said, "That is why I asked Lord Carle to accompany me on this trip. He shares the governor's opinion of the inhabitants of this land, and he therefore has gained the governor's confidence and received access to parts of the palace where I could not go. But one thing Lord Carle hates more than the Koretians, and that is anyone who disobeys the Chara. For this reason, he has been as eager as I have been to uncover evidence of the governor's treachery, no matter what benefits this might bring to Koretia. Lord Carle has already told me that he will enter a charge against Lord Alan, and that in doing so, he will take the governor out of the council's care and place him under my judgment. He plans to charge the governor with disobedience to the Chara so that I may place Lord Alan under the high doom. I now have the power to free Koretia." 

The night was very quiet. Even the soldiers who patrolled the city streets below could not be heard. The wind, still making its deadly way down the mountain and over the city, gently rocked the mask that John held. He said, "And will you?" 

"That," said Peter, "is a difficult question for me to answer right now." He turned away, as though he were among friends rather than his captors, and leaned against the window jamb, staring down the mountainside. He said quietly, "I am your prisoner, and you have told me that you intend to kill me soon unless I free Koretia. It is possible that I might go against my true judgment and give you the answer you want so that I could escape execution. As long as I am in your power, neither you nor I nor anyone else can be sure that the answer I give you will be the one the Chara would give or simply something that I, Peter, would say to save my life." 

He turned his head slightly so that it faced John. "You have said that you cannot trust me. But unless you trust me enough to free me, I cannot give you my answer." 

He turned his attention back to the view. I could no longer see his face. 

"Trust . . ." murmured John. He raised his mask slightly, and I wondered whether he would consult the god. Then he let his hand drop, and he said, "I trust Andrew, and Andrew knows whether you are to be trusted. I will leave it to my blood brother to decide." 

Peter did not face my way. He continued to stare out the window – not at the city, I now realized, but at the mountains beyond. I said, my voice shaking with emotion and exhaustion, "No doubt the Chara will continue to believe that I am being treacherous, no matter what my answer. So I will not try to determine here to whom I should be loyal, as I have been struggling to do for the past day." 

I paused, but Peter remained motionless. John was standing close to me; I kept my gaze focussed away from him and instead stared into the darkness of the sanctuary. "What I think is this," I said, my voice turning flat with dispassion. "The first time Peter spoke to me, I was a Koretian slave, and he spoke to me in friendship. I have never seen him show less care toward the Koretians than he does toward the Emorians. I do not know whether he will free our land, but I trust that he will make the decision he does from love, and you told me—" I turned to John and said, "You told me that there is nothing more that you and your thieves can demand of each other than love and trust. The Chara has shown that he loves this land by risking his life to come to Koretia. I think that you must match his sacrifice by giving him your trust." I looked back at Peter. 

Barely audible over the whisper of the wind, John said, "You have heard Andrew. You are free to leave when you wish." 

For a moment, Peter did not move. Then, as though he had been bodily released, he slid down the wall and sat with a thump on the windowseat, leaning his head back against the wall. The mask upon his face dissolved, and I saw the tears of my dream. 

o—o—o

He said nothing for several minutes, but breathed raggedly, trying to swallow his tears. John and I waited. In the end, Peter's breathing calmed, and he turned his head toward John. "_Now_ I can tell you what I was thinking in my cell in between counting those twenty-four cursed spiderwebs. I was thinking about the other difficulty I mentioned, of finding a Koretian ruler. I told you I knew no one whom I could trust to work with both me and the Koretians, no man who would be loyal to the Koretians' best interests rather than to some narrow view of Koretian independence. That was true until I met the Jackal today. Will the Jackal take over the government so that I can free Koretia?" 

My breath catching, I turned my gaze toward John. I saw for a moment a look of shock in his eyes that matched my own. Then his eyes grew quiet again, and he scanned Peter's face, as though looking for something he had not seen before. For the first time that evening, a smile travelled onto John's face, one of his old smiles that transformed his serious expression. Without a word, he turned and walked beyond the patch of moonlight into the darkness of the sanctuary. 

When he turned again, it was as though he had been swallowed up by the darkness. All that I could see were three lights: a red light burning from the god-mask badge above his heart, a silver light shining from his dagger, and a gold light glowing from his eyes. 

"Oddly enough," he said, "I too have spent the day thinking about this question, because of a conversation Andrew reported to me – a conversation he held with one of the governor's subcaptains. But as I told you not long ago, Chara, it is the god who must answer your question." And he put on the mask. 

My eyes were fixed on the Jackal, but I heard the swift intake of Peter's breath as he rose to his feet. The god's power was all around us, surrounding us in its smoky fold, feeding upon us and transforming us through that feeding into something new. Fifteen years before, something had brought forth this power as I stood in the cave looking at Peter. Now it was John's eyes that captured my thoughts. 

Then the Jackal reached up and pulled away his mask, as though he had only placed it there to give us warning of his approach. He spoke to us through the body of John, but his voice was that of the god in my vision. 

"Place the Koretian people under my care, Chara Peter," he said in a voice more soft than a whisper but more pronounced than a shout. "For the people must be taught one last lesson in how to wear the Pendant of Judgment, and that lesson they must learn from the servant who wears this mask, not the Chara. Thirty-five years ago, as men count time, I took the first steps to give my people into the care of the Chara, that they might learn through his vengeance and mercy what it means to judge. Yet, for to keep the Koretians from enslaving themselves and losing the courage to break their bonds, I have hunted my own people and commanded that brother shall shed the blood of brother. Thus have I suffered for my people and taught them to suffer, for there can be no judgment without sacrifice. And as they have been taught what it is to judge, I have taught you today what it is to be judged, that you need never again wear my pendant in fear." 

I heard the Chara breathing heavily beside me. He spoke in a voice low but firm: "Take your people, then, for you are their master." 

"I am indeed their master, and they are my servants," said the god with his low, thundering voice. "They are my servants, as you are my servant, wearing my mask and speaking in my voice the laws which I gave to the Emorian people. For I care nothing for blood vows or blade vows to brothers or lands; these I gave to my people only that they might understand the meaning of sacrifice. To mortals who have the eyes to see, there are neither Emorians nor Koretians, but only those who receive peace by being servants of the god." 

He was silent again, and we watched and waited, but I did not see the moment when the power left John, for his eyes remained the same.


	23. The God's Land | 7

**CHAPTER SEVEN**

John spoke finally in his own voice, saying, "But I will need your help, Chara, for while the god may be all-knowing, his servant John is not, and you will have to teach me what I must do, as a man teaches his younger brother. I thank you for entrusting me with this duty." 

Peter gave a sigh like an explosion. His face had gone from grey to moonlight white, and his hand was shaking as he raised it to steady himself against the window jamb. But as I watched, there appeared for the briefest moment the rigid expression I had seen on his face for ten years and had never recognized for what it was. Then the god-mask was gone, and Peter whispered, "Yes," and I knew that he had recognized the truth of the god's words. 

He took another deep breath before saying to John, "I could not ask you while you still held me in your power." 

There was a pause before John replied. As I looked over at him, I saw that a cautious look had entered his face, and I realized that he too had previously been shielded by the god from the knowledge of what Peter was. Then he smiled and said, "And I could not have accepted your offer had you made it then, so I am glad that I asked Andrew's judgment in this matter. My own would have been different. That is twice I have been wrong and Andrew has been right, and I am beginning to wonder whether the god has been speaking through another man today. But I will go now and let the thieves know what has happened here. Andrew can escort you back to the palace when you are ready." 

Peter waited until John was at the door, and then said, in a low voice that barely carried to the end of the hall, "Before I leave, I would like to pay my respects to your wife." 

John's smile turned light. "She is not my wife. But I am sure that she will be glad to see you." He closed the door. 

Peter stared at me, and I waited to see what he would say, whether he would doom me with further recriminations or give me the mercy of forgiveness. But what he said was, "What did he mean, that she is not his wife?" 

"Ursula is not married to John. They have lived as husband and wife to the world, but she is like a sister to him." 

"And what is she to you?" Peter asked abruptly. 

I stared at him, wondering whether he had guessed who her mother was. Peter went on, his voice turned harsh, "I saw how you held her in this very chamber. I know that you cannot love her in a normal way, but if you have found some way of – of showing love to her and making her love you, then I wish to know this." 

It seemed to me that my life could grow no darker than this, that Peter would hate me so much that he would not bother to speak of my betrayal, even to condemn me, but would rebuke me for some small matter. And yet the darkness I found myself in was still the darkness of my vision, so I said to him calmly, with no anger or pain, "She is my sister. Her mother was my mother, and her father was the Emorian soldier who enslaved me. Chara—" 

He turned abruptly, looking at the door. He stood very still as he gazed at it, and I sensed that he had forgotten I was there. After a moment, without looking my way, he walked out of the sanctuary. 

I remained in the shadows, remembering the darkness that had enclosed me in the vision. Somewhere beyond the darkness, I knew, was severe pain, the pain that I had betrayed the Chara and that he had not forgiven me. If I left this sanctuary, I knew somehow that the darkness would be gone, and I would feel the pain. 

I walked over to the window and sat down, then took the Chara's dagger from my belt and held it over my wrist, crossways from the white scar I had made for John so long ago. The dagger tingled in my hand, as it had when I had tried to kill the soldier and Lord Carle and the Koretian in the market. All of these events, I realized, had just been death shadows of the temptation that lay before me. I was tempted, as I had been three times before in my life, to stay in the shadow of the god and share his painless existence. This time I would not be called back from the darkness by Peter's voice speaking to his father in anger or John's voice speaking to me with judgment or Ursula's voice praying to her god for mercy. The only voice that could still send me back from the darkness was the god's, and I listened for his command. 

I thought of how I had betrayed the Chara and betrayed the Jackal, of how I had betrayed Emor and betrayed Koretia; I thought of all the pain that awaited me if I once more left this room and faced the light. I waited for the god to explain why he had commanded me to do these things; I waited for him to explain why I should undergo further pain. And then I remembered John's voice as he spoke the god's words, and I knew that the Unknowable God had no need to speak to me, because he had told me all that I desired to know in his final words in this room. 

So I went in search of the Chara. 

As I slipped into the corridor, I found myself in a maelstrom of excitement as the thieves received the news of their land's freedom. Too well trained to shout, they contented themselves with pounding each other on their backs and throwing their weapons into a silver pile in the corner. John was at the far end of the corridor, talking to Brendon. I walked toward him, and as I passed the main door, I caught a glimpse of the farmer as he disappeared down the mountainside. I could guess that he had finally been given permission to search for the missing thief. 

Unnoticed by the joyful thieves, I paused at each cell to look inside. In the background of the thieves' low voices, I could hear John still talking to Brendon – I caught the word "Chara" and then, a little later, "Ursula." Catching sight of me, John gestured with his head toward the closed dormitory door as he pulled Brendon further down the corridor to where the other thieves were waiting, eager to question the Jackal. 

I opened the door to the dormitory, and there I found Peter, kissing my sister. 

I stood there for a moment, my mind whirling with yet more images from the past few weeks: Peter sitting on his bed next to me, saying, "I want to remove my mask"; Ursula sitting on my bed next to me, saying, "I have fallen in love." Then the lovers looked over and saw me. Ursula glanced back at Peter and read something in his face. Without saying anything to him, she left the room, glancing uncertainly at me as she passed. Peter waited, and it was though I was seeing through his eyes what he must have seen the night he had me brought to him for judgment. 

I said, "You did not tell me you loved her." 

He replied, in the casual manner he would have in the old days, "I didn't know that she loved me or that she was free to love me. Do I have your consent to marry her?" 

I walked over to where he stood, framed against the window facing north. Behind him were the black border mountains, untouched by the moonlight that spilled like snowfall onto the ground. I took too long to reply, for Peter asked, "Do you hate me that much?" 

"Hate you?" I stared at Peter. 

"For betraying you." 

I shook my head, incredulous. "It was I who betrayed you." 

A look came into Peter's eyes, the look that had been in his eyes after the Unknowable God spoke to us. He said in a low voice, "I don't know how I could tell anyone of what happened tonight. I don't fully understand what took place. If anything is clear to me, it's that the Power I heard in that sanctuary has commanded me to give him my service, not through the performance of religious rites, but through my proclamation and enforcement of the laws of Emor. This is something I can understand. Therefore, I won't say, as John said, that you were speaking today with the voice of the god, but I will say that you were following a law that is unknown even to the Chara." 

Peter reached over and touched me lightly on the arm as he added softly, "You betrayed John and you betrayed me, but you did not betray this higher law – and I never believed that you did. I only said otherwise because I was terrified of dying and even more terrified that I would betray my duty as the Chara to avoid dying. So, to avoid this fear, I hurt my wine-friend. Please forgive me." 

I felt as though the hard bonds of diplomacy and silence that I had forged for myself during my years in Emor were breaking around me, and that I would never again be able to hold my heart completely in hiding. "It makes no sense for you to ask my forgiveness, after what I did." 

"No. Nor did it make any sense for you to do what you did. But because of you, I am free and Koretia is free and we are able to be friends once more. Whatever this voice of yours is, it is not something that follows logic." 

I tried to understand this, gave up, and silently handed the Chara his dagger. 

"Thank you," he said as he sheathed it. "And now . . . I have, by some miracle, faced death all this day without sliding to my knees and begging the Jackal for my life, but I swear, Andrew, you will find me kneeling at your feet in the next moment if you don't tell me whether I may marry your sister." 

A smile slid easily onto my face, as though it were returning home. "Of course. You are lucky to find each other. But what will the council lords say?" 

"The council lords," said Peter dryly, "are apt to be busy picking me apart over my decision to free Koretia. But in any case, they know that I wouldn't enter into any marriage that went against my duties as the Chara. It may take them time to understand how Emor could be benefitted by a common half-Koretian girl, but they will see in the end." 

Noise attracted my attention. As I looked out the window, I saw the thieves pouring out of the gods' house, smiling and chatting in voices no longer kept low in fear. Brendon hushed them with his hand, as though to indicate that their work was not yet done. Glancing back, he caught sight of me and waved a farewell at me with his blade. It was an Emorian soldier's sword, John had told me that afternoon – a relic from Brendon's years in the governor's army, which he had joined during the years when he was still seeking his true master. 

"Will you take her with you to live in Emor?" I asked. 

"She wants to live there – which is fortunate, as I have no choice but to return there. She says that she would like to stay in the palace where you lived for so many years." He paused, and then added, "She knows what your friendship means to me, and so she assumes you'll be returning with us. But I won't ask you to do so, because I know what your answer must be." 

I kept my eyes focussed on the dark land beyond the window. "I didn't know what my answer would be until you spoke just now. When did you guess?" 

"Twelve years ago, when I first saw you staring at those mountains. I knew then that you would one day return to your homeland. I was grateful to you for staying with me as long as you did." 

I turned back to Peter. He was looking at me with the same somber eyes and slight smile he had shown on that day when he learned that I wished to be his friend, when he learned that I was willing to stay with him for a little while more. He said, "There is a Koretian custom – I seem to have heard of it somewhere – that when two friends must be parted, they mix their blood, so that if ever they meet again, they will know each other. Is this a custom that an Emorian may practice?" He unsheathed his dagger and held it out to me. 

I shook my head. "We have shared wine already. You have been as close to me as a blood brother for many years. As for our blood, it is neither Emorian nor Koretian, but simply the blood of friends. And soon my sister will be your wife, and I think that we can expect that some day nobody will be asking each other which land they are loyal to, but simply what they are loyal to." 

He nodded, letting his dagger-hand drop. His gaze drifted to the door, as though my mention of Ursula had been her voice calling him. "Go to her," I said. "When you're ready, she and I will escort you back to the governor's palace." 

Peter shook his head. "I still have work to do before it will be safe to take Ursula there. The governor won't give up his power easily; I may need Carle's help in seeing to Lord Alan's arrest." He began to turn, but paused when he saw me looking at the brooch near his throat, the one I had always thought his father had given him. I felt pressing in the back of my mind a memory I could not identify. 

Peter followed the direction of my gaze. "Carle gave it to me the night you and I first talked – one of the few times he has been able to unbend far enough to treat me as something other than his master. I had actually sneaked out of my chamber to go see him, something I'd never done before. Well, I was disappointed in what he had to say, as you know. But I wasn't disappointed in what he was, not since that first evening when he had the courage to defend me to my father." 

"You never told me." 

"I never told you because I didn't want you to be as envious of him as he is of you." 

It was a shock as great as any I had received that night, yet it came, like the others, with a sense of recognition, as though I had always known. I stood there motionless, remembering my talk with Lord Carle that day, and how, even at the moment that I confirmed his dark suspicions by betraying the Chara, he still spoke to me in the words of a defeated soldier. "Why does he envy me?" I asked. 

"Because you can treat me as your equal, and he cannot." Peter touched the brooch lightly. "Do you remember how, on that first night, we talked of slave-masks? I fear that Carle will never be able to remove the mask of obedience he has forced himself to wear." 

I felt a breeze brush my face as though my own slave-mask had been, if not removed, turned into something I could bear wearing. "Perhaps," I said. "But perhaps Lord Carle can transform his slave-mask into a god-mask. I'll do my part by apologizing to him for my behavior toward him." 

"He doesn't deserve an apology," said Peter. "Not after the way he treated you." 

"I still feel it's something I should do. Didn't your father say once that you must use the Heart of Mercy on those you hate?" 

Peter raised his eyebrows. "And the Jackal demands sacrifices from his servants. Well, as you have said, the ways of the gods are mysterious. Besides" – he gave a quick grin – "to see you apologize to Carle would almost be worth all I have suffered this past night." And the Chara raised his dagger to me in a salute before leaving the room. 

But I remained where I was for some time, thinking of the Unknowable God and of his fire that brings both pain and mercy. 

o—o—o

When I returned to the sanctuary, I found John sitting where I had seen him fifteen years before, on the day that we were parted. The mask dangled from his fingers. As I sat down opposite him, he said quietly, "I'm glad you're here – I was about to leave. The Jackal must make his final night-prowl to bring the good news to his thieves . . . and to help the Chara bring the governor to justice." 

"I was with Peter," I said. "He has forgiven me, and he wishes to marry Ursula." 

"I saw Ursula, and she told me both pieces of news. Did you give your consent?" 

"Naturally. Though he ought to have asked you. You were the one who raised her." 

John smiled and leaned back easily against the window jamb. "I hope their marriage will be good for them. I know that it will be good for our lands." He continued to smile, but something in his eyes made me listen to his words carefully. He said, "Ursula told me that she and the Chara and you are going home soon. If the peace holds, I know that the Chara will be unable to visit here again. Do you think that you ever will?" 

I looked toward the city, still peaceful, which would now remain peaceful under the Jackal's rule. Further down the mountainside was the priests' house, where my sister was born and John had sought his god. Below that was the cave where I had first seen Peter, where John and I had become blood brothers, and where, unperceived to me, the Unknowable God had placed me under his care. 

"John," I said, "do you think that, amidst your duties as the Jackal, you might have time to help me change the gods' house into a house for us?" 

John stayed wordless for a while. Then he said, "I doubt I will be able to spare the time." I looked back at him, and he added, "But the god will no doubt understand if I neglect somewhat my duties toward the land for love of my blood brother. I made a blood vow once for peace, and you have shown me the way to that peace." 

I said nothing more; the peace in my heart could find no words.

**Author's Note:**

> _Editors:_ Katharine B., Kathleen Livingston, [Parhelion](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Parhelion/pseuds/Parhelion), and Tracy Shaw.
> 
> _Editorial assistants:_ Isha, Lyn, [Nick Thiwerspoon](https://nickthiwerspoon.wordpress.com/), Suza, and Theresa.
> 
> _Proofreader:_ Loyal Reader.
> 
> _Science consultants:_ Parhelion and [Maureen Lycaon](http://maureenlycaon-dw.dreamwidth.org/). 
> 
> [Publication history](http://duskpeterson.com/cvhep.htm#bloodvow).
> 
> This story was originally published at [duskpeterson.com](http://duskpeterson.com). The story is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Copyright © 2008, 2009, 2012, 2014, 2017, 2019 Dusk Peterson. Permission is granted for fan fiction or fan art inspired by this story. Please credit Dusk Peterson and duskpeterson.com for the original story.


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